


Things you never forget

by A_Pile_of_trash



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: All aboard the Feels train, Asgore is a cinnamon roll, Bricks to the head, By Puns, F/M, Fluff, Gerson has had enough of your shit, Grief/Mourning, Grillby has PTSD, Midieval setting, Mom-lationships, More salt than the ocean, Other, Slow Burn, Slow recovery, So many awful jokes, Worst mage/Best elemental, Yer a mage harry, almost everyone has PTSD, mental trauma, reader is female, sass af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 106,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Pile_of_trash/pseuds/A_Pile_of_trash
Summary: A thousand years ago, before the barrier went up, monsters found themselves under constant threat of humans.  They have suffered from years of prejudice and hatred.  And now war.  Grillby is now the last of his family line, the only one left to save his niece.  Developing monsters need both love and magic... and at the moment, all he can feel is despair.You, are a lone human, living at the base of Mt Ebott, as far from the cities as you can get.  You are used to the monsters on the mountain.  You are also used to being alone and keeping secrets.  Now you can no longer do either of those things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More tags/description to come later. I hate spoilers, so I'll keep anything not yet released hidden! This chapter was originally this one and the next, but that made it hella long. Sparing you all, I divided it in half. Forgive this extra angsty first chapter. It gets better!... then worse... it's like an emo see-saw.

A monster settlement tucked along a river flanked by a large, dense forest was -- for the most part -- a peaceful place. There were the occasional squabbles, of course. Someone was always howling about _something_ … the weather, their neighbors, the humans… but it was overwhelmingly peaceful. The last fight had been when two monsters were arguing over the tulips were pink or fuchsia. And the whole argument ended with both sides apologizing. Followed by hugs. Then tea.

Grillby couldn’t stand it.

The moment he was old enough, he enlisted in the sentry guard, only to realize that this too was boring. Guards didn’t send raw recruit _boys_ out on missions, they made him stand watch in front of the gates on peaceful, sunny days. So now he had to _listen_ to the arguments about the flowers.

The indignity.

There was nothing to do for it though. Grillby often spotted runners and couriers traveling the land, and noticed quickly that they were all the fleetest and smallest of rabbit monsters. Ones that would draw no attention and could vanish into the thick of the woods in a moment’s notice. Grillby, on the other hand, was literally unable to hide if his life depended on it. A six foot tall inferno didn’t _hide._ Not unless your house was supposed to be on fire, perhaps.

“See anything, boy?” Gerson asked, leaning against a oak staff, half asleep at his post. The tortoise monster didn’t do anything without _Very Good Reason_ to move, content to just stand there and look official rather than go looking for trouble. More than once Grillby had caught his superior asleep at his post, standing up, eyes open. It was… unsettling.

“...No, road is clear.” Grillby kept his position with his back straight and at attention, while Gerson was perpetually half stooped over with the weight of his shell.

“Good. I’m making rounds ta the other gate. Keep an eye open.” The tortoise pushed away from the wall, knocking the gate open with a heavy shove from the staff.

Grillby watched the guard captain enter the city gates before returning his attention to the road. Far down the path, he could see where the road took a sharp dogleg and made to follow the river. If he looked further, he could follow the river itself as it continued to the sea. On a clear day, he would be able to see the ocean… slightly. It was usually a gray haze, like a low hanging cloud. What he wouldn’t be able to see, no matter how clear the weather, was the human village set at the base of the river where it touched the sea.

Today was not a high visibility day. The human settlements burned wood and coal, kicking up sooty black clouds into the sky though. There was a gray haze that spiraled upwards where the village would be. Even without perfect visibility today, the roads were noticeably clear. They had been completely empty for the past two weeks and it was becoming suspicious. Not even the human miners who had a small quarry not even a league from the monster village had been sighted.

There was a running rumor that another plague had struck humanity. Grillby had also heard some cat folk whispering about the human King dying suddenly, and the humans were in mourning for their monarch. Yet more gossip was that it was indeed a plague, but one the humans were blaming monsters for. News and gossip blended together. Someone claimed there was no plague and the human king was fine, but men were waging war on their neighboring humans... again. None of the gossip was news, nor was it probably true. Grillby had only been a guard for three boring months, and those whispers had been bouncing around even then.

‘ _Maybe there is some truth to the rumors, though,’_ Grillby mused to himself, lifting one bare hand to his fiery face to rub at his chin. He found it strange that human travelers would vanish from the roads overnight. The monster couriers and scouts could only report massive activity behind the human city walls, but the gates remained closed. Every human settlement was this way, gates sealed and all humans safely tucked inside. It was as if they were expecting an attack. Grillby didn’t have a clue who would attack humans though.

Humans were ridiculously strong. A human Grillby’s size would easily be able to win in a physical skirmish. Their strength came from the fact that humans were made of… ‘stuff’, instead of being constructed from magic. ‘Stuff’ was apparently high endurance and able to resist much damage that would be crippling to a monster. Word is that if a human was stabbed through the gut, they could get themselves back to safety, and recover. If that happened to a monster, there would be only dust left behind. Humans could lose limbs and still persist on. They would leak a red liquid if injured, similar to a monster starting to dust, but in the case of humans the red liquid actually helped them heal. It was called… bud or blod or something? Gerson once told him young humans would have all their teeth fall out to regrow larger and stronger. Everything about humans was built for survival.

It was terrifying.

“Alright kid, shift’s up. Go home.” Gerson’s deep bass voice startled Grillby, his fire wicking outwards defensively. A fluffy white hound was following the tortoise as he shuffled back to the gatehouse. The dog raised one paw to his forehead and gave the fire elemental a smart salute and a tiny bark before taking his place at the gate.

“Yes, sir.” Grillby said clearly, though he felt like today was another wasted day.

“It sounded like there was good news at yer family’s house… might want ta be hurryin’,” Gerson gave a wry grin, scratching over one of the scars on his plastron.

Grillby’s flame burned yellow and wild, “She’s … already?!” Taking three panicked steps forward, he barely remembered to stop and give the hound his polearm, retreating three steps and almost throwing the weapon at the other guard before breaking into a run through the gates. The guard gave a yip, but he didn’t even hear it over the sound his flames made - a dull roar and crackle of anxiety. A manticore crossing the road had to bodily throw themselves out of the way when Grillby tore through the street, leaving a trail of embers as he bolted.

Taking a sharp left turn, boots skidding on the dirt path, Grillby hooked his hand into a wrought-iron fence gate and hurtled _over_ the gate rather than take the two seconds to open it. Charging up the path, the fire monster came to a halt at the door and finally managed to reign in his panic to manageable levels and keep himself from knocking the door down.

Taking a slow breath, his flames wicking from a panicked yellow back to his typical orange, Grillby carefully opened the door and called out, “Chispir?”

The house was alive with a flurry of flames. At once Grillby was grasped by a wildly swirling yellow elemental. “Grill! There’s a--, I’m a… it’s,” Words failed the other elemental. Flint was half laughing, half crying.

Flint’s near hysteria caused Grillby to panic, “Flint, Is Chispir ok?”

“Why are all the men in my life prone to panic? Stars, I’m fine, worrywart.,” Lifting one hand up from a sofa ahead, Grillby caught sight of blue fire twirling around her fingers elegantly. Chispir was his older sister … by five minutes. Twins were rare among monsters. Grillby might have been the larger twin, but his sister would never let him forget he was the 'baby'.

Looking over her shoulder, Chespir gave a wide smile, flames curling in pride. “And so is your niece.”

Flint almost bodily dragged Grillby over to the sofa. His sister sat there, leaning against the sofa in exhaustion, and a glowing green egg in her arms. Both new parents were glowing with pride, their flames almost too bright to look directly at. The egg was small enough that it could fit easily in two cupped hands. It was hard to believe that in only a year this would be a small elemental. Under the emerald shell, something pale and white fluttered.

“Is that-,” Grillby started.

“Do you want to hold her?” His sister didn’t even let him finish.

Balking, Grillby stepped back, his brow wrinkled. What if he dropped the egg? What if he hurt his niece before she even hatched? “I… really don’t--,”

Chispir was known for never letting him finish his sentences though, “Get over here, and sit your flaming rear down.”

Flint clapped a hand on Grillby’s back, sparks of excitement shimmering about him. “It’s not everyday you get to be an uncle for the first time. … oh stars, I’m a father now. Oh stars...what if she remembers me panicking back there? Oh no, what if she thinks I’m an awful father?” Flint was the polar opposite to Chispir in every way, the stereotypical fire elemental: passionate about everything he did, quick to temper, always acting first and thinking later. The two of them worked well though, Chispir’s cool flames tempering Flint’s wild blaze.

“She’s literally not going to remember any of this!” Grillby protested as Flint started to work himself into another panic.  He sat carefully next to his sister, watching with amusement as his brother-in-law went into another fit.

With both hands cupping the egg, Chispir placed it onto Grillby’s lap. He tried to remain still, but he reflexively jolted when his sister released the egg. As he brought both hands up to make sure it didn’t accidentally roll off his lap, he felt the soft magic inside flutter. The white soul under the shell seemed to be doing laps inside the roomy egg. Green magic cushioned the soul, revealing the small spark’s color under the shell.

“She’s… you know she’s a girl then?” Grillby looked over at his sister.

“Call it a mother’s intuition. I could be wrong… but I never am,” his sister laughed, a wide grin appearing through blue flames. Elementals didn’t need a mouth to speak, but out of courtesy for the other monsters most of them did. Forming a smile took a conscious effort for most elements, but not for Chispir. She was always fast to smile, and just as fast to frown and scold someone as well.

“That’s my sister, so humble,” Grillby chuckled. As he touched the shell, the small soul was following his fingers on the other side. “I’m going to be an uncle,” he said quietly to the egg.

Chispir seemed tired, leaning against her twin. “I’m sure you’ll be a fine uncle. And Flint is going to be an amazing father.” Her fire was bright, but seemed smaller than normal. Producing an egg took a lot of magic out of both parents. Fire elemental children in particular took a lot of magic to raise. Grillby offered a spark of mana to his niece, and was surprised when the soul tugged gently on the magic, taking it like a shy child accepts a present from a stranger.

“She’s beautiful.” Grillby admitted, running a lick of orange fire down the egg gently. The soul seemed to chase after his flame, playful and curious.

His sister gave a hum of acknowledgment, but seemed to be slipping into a light sleep. She had never been as robust as Grillby was. Chispir tired out easily, and her flames were best suited for small things like cooking in the restaurant she and Flint ran. For the past few weeks, his sister and her husband had been gathering as much mana as they could for this chance. And now a perfect little elemental was developing, waiting until she was large enough to hatch.

Grillby had known his niece for all of ten minutes, and he was absolutely in love with this child. He wasn’t sure how it was possible to feel so proud of such a tiny spark, but he was.

And yet somehow, less than a day later, he’d feel absolutely nothing.

 

* * *

 

In the dead of night, the humans attacked. The night watch didn’t even see the first wave hit. Humans came up the river, not on boats, but by walking in the shallows. The walls had a metal grate over the mouth of the river, but it was meant to stop boats not individuals. A small force of humans crept along the wall, reaching the sentry outpost inside the walls and dusting every guard watching the front gate.  The moment the gate opened, pandemonium ran wild. A low bleating horn woke all sleeping guards and monsters from their bed. A second alarm, a heavy iron bell, rang out to give the order to assemble all civilians and protect them. The horn stopped blowing even as Grillby shot out of bed, whoever had sounded the first alarm was no longer able to keep the horn going.

Fire was mostly incorporeal, it took Grillby seconds to diffuse _through_ his armor and take a more solid form, no need to don it hastily. Running out of his room in the guard’s barracks, Grillby was met with complete chaos outside. While the gate guards had fallen in a single attack, the second guards that patrol the interior of the city quickly set up a blockade around the now-open gate. There was a siren in the midst of the hounds, singing her lethal song for the human attackers. Any human unfortunate enough to hear the compulsion in the song dropped their weapon, staggered to the river and threw themselves in. They did not rise to the surface again.

Grillby felt a cold chill run up his back, his flames crackled wildly as he witness the melee. This was the first battle he had been in, it wasn’t a practice bout with padded weapons and target dummys… all targets were living people. Guards were falling under the sheer number of humans pressing through the gate. The small group of hounds were no match for the army attacking them, it was only a matter of time before their barricade fell and they were overrun. Already the smarter humans had blocked their ears at the siren’s song.

“Boy!” Gerson’s deep bellow pulled Grillby back to his senses. “Glad yeh made it, now if yeh could, give us a wall!”

This, Grillby could manage. The only warning he gave was his amour suddenly wreathed in fire before a towering, ten foot high wall of fire sealed the breach at the front gate. Humans howled in agony and threw themselves out of the village flailing helplessly as they fought the blaze. The wall began to creep backwards, following the retreating army until it blocked them entirely.

Overhead, thunder began to rumble.

“Not now, not now!” Grillby hissed. He could feel the air heavy with humidity. It could start raining in a few minutes or a few hours, but there would be rain tonight. The firewall would not hold if it started raining, the magic would immediately extinguish. Grillby was one of the most offensive-heavy fighters in the guard. But if it started raining, he was more useless than a moldsmal.

“Good job, lad!” Gerson called, his attention on getting a fallen monster back on their feet. “Can ya keep the fire going here, and check on the villagers? We can’t stay here much longer. They have… superior numbers to us.” There was defeat in the tortoise’s voice. They battle had just started, and Gerson could sense a losing fight. No point in killing all his men to make a stand. This was now a retreat, they would get as many survivors as they could to safety.

“Y-yes sir!” Grillby turned and bolted straight back into the village. The wall would burn indefinitely, as long as he kept magic funneled into it and was within range to do so. The monster settlement wasn’t very big, only a few blocks in any direction. It took him moments to reach the center square where the villagers were gathered. A makeshift guard of monsters armed pitchforks and magic kept the more vulnerable members in the center of the group. The dull claxon of the tower bells were still ringing, but it appeared nearly every villager had already assembled.

… no, not every villager. “Where...Flint? Chispir!?” Grillby didn’t see his sister’s brilliant blue fire, nor Flint’s own yellow fire. His was the only flame in the entire square, his orange flickering light stretching shadows ominously into grasping claws.

Acting as command for the civilians, a hound in full plate lifted his head and swiveled his ears to look at Grillby. The monster gave a low, grumbling growl, ending with a deep woof, nosing towards the restaurant that Chispir and Flint lived above. The guard had yet to see them leave their house.

Hesitating only long enough to make sure there was no attacking group of humans about to rush the civilians, Grillby dashed for the restaurant along the river. His cloak snapped behind him flames twisting through the fabric but it was not consumed by the fire. By the time he crossed the square and shoved the door open, his armor had entirely been wreathed with flame in anxiety.

The sight of three humans armored in soaking wet leather armor and clutching longswords in his sister’s house took Grillby entirely off guard. Perhaps not as off guard as the sight of a fully wreathed elemental bursting through the door, but in the single second of silence where Grillby looked down at the three human soldiers and they looked back at him and all were stunned.

Lvl 3. They were all lvl 3.

He exploded.

A fire monster’s home is spelled to resist fire, but at the moment Grillby didn’t even care if it had been as flammable as tissue paper though. Releasing a pent up nova of fire, the humans were caught in the blast, their sodden leather armor not offering the least of protection against a firestorm. A whirlwind of flames tore through the room, destroying anything not spelled to resist fire and scorching the walls with its heat. The windows imploded, shattering shards of glass into the room and a breath of fresh wind fueled the flames higher.

Leaving the room burning, Grillby staggered towards the back of the house. “C-chis? Flint?” 

“Grill. We’re… back here.” Chispir’s voice came from the back bedroom, door closed.

Hissing a breath of smoke and ash in relief, Grillby reached for the doorknob. The metal was searingly hot, Chispir’s work no doubt. She had set her magic on the metal, making it too hot for the humans to pull the handle open and the door was too sturdy to easily break through. Fumbling with the knob, Grillby managed after the second or third attempt to get the door open. Struggling to a stand straighter, Grillby pushed the door open.

Blue light flickered unsteadily in the bedroom, the crest of his sister’s flame just visible on the other side of the bed. She didn’t stand to meet him, or even acknowledge that the door had opened. His sister was weeping.

“Chispir! What--,” Grillby stepped forward, his foot skidding on the floor. He had stepped in something that made the tile slippery. Ashes.

No… his instincts told him it was dust.

Kneeling on the floor in disbelief, Grillby put one hand to the pile of dust. They were warm, dying embers hidden under the pile.

“Th-they came while we slept. Before the alarm bell started.” Chispir clutched at the bed covers, looking over the top of the coverlet with glittering beads of magic dripping from her eyes. “Broke a window, Flint heard them. Flint--,” Her voice broke, and a soft mewl of anguish escaped her.

Rising to his feet, Grillby felt the room tilt. Or maybe it was the dizziness amplified. He took three unsteady steps to the bed, nausea rising. With one hand clutching the covers, her other hand was dull with dust and limp. Motes of dust spun off of Chispir like snow, illuminated silvery by her flames. Grillby could see the scorch marks in Chispir's dress, deep burns that started at her core and slashes in the fabric. She had been stabbed, a direct hit to her core. 

“...no.” Grillby was not a healer. Chispir was going to dust right before his eyes. Even if he could heal… a wound like this was beyond all but the most skilled. Flint had been struck down and taken off guard, but Chispir had fought back. The room was covered in char and embers where she had run the humans out of the room and set the door on fire. But they had gotten several strikes against her. Chispir was not a warrior. She was a kind-hearted, warm elemental who liked baking and the first snow of the year.

“S-saying ‘no’ won’t stop me, little brother.” Chispir tried to laugh, but it came out a bark of pain. “Please. Please don’t --,” dust was spreading up her shoulder now, the fingertips on her other hand starting to come apart.

Gathering his sister in his arms, Grillby held her as she shivered. He couldn’t tell if it was out of cold, or fear. His flames rose higher, trying to comfort her. “What do I do?”

Chispir’s hand was too weak to reach out, so Grillby took hers in his hand. “Please. She’s...in the basket.” Her gaze dropped to look at the space under the bed.

With his sister leaning against him, Grillby reached under the bed and his fingers touched a woven basket. Pulling it gently out, inch by inch, as if it was made of brittle ice, Grillby moved the basket to Chispir’s side. From under the wrappings of soft cloth, a green light glowed. Flicking away the coverings, Grillby sighed, seeing no damage to his niece’s egg.

Pulling his sister against him, threading an arm under her legs to lift her as he stood, Chispir gave a pained whimper, a cloud of dust rising as she shuddered. “Don’t. Leave me here. With Flint. I can’t… leave him.” The fire was fading fast, Chispir was down to embers, blue coals that barely could cast a faint light. She was falling.

What was the point of fighting if he couldn’t even protect the people who needed him the most? He had craved excitement and adventure, never once did he think that his sister would be harmed in any of his dreams of the future. As little sparks, he couldn’t remember a time when Chispir didn’t encourage him to do whatever it was he desired. When he decided to join the guard, she told him he had a courageous heart and she was proud of him and he had never been more content. Moving as gently as he could, Grillby brought Chispir to the sweeping pile of dust where Flint had fallen.

The egg on the bed covers glowed pale in the dark room. The soul insist battering against the shell as it tried to reach towards them.

“Chis, I don’t know how to raise kids. What do I do?” Grillby lifted both hands to his sister’s face. She was struggling to breathe, her flames turning into glowing embers and fading.

“She needs… magic. And… love.” Chispir gazed at her daughter’s egg. “Don’t you dare...shut yourself away. She needs you, you need her, you dull spark.” The gentle insult was followed by a weak laugh.

“Promise me.” Chispir’s voice was a hiss of dying coals.

“... I promise. I won’t leave your daughter. I’ll make sure she turns out just like my big sister.” Grillby, burning tears of magic rolled down his face.

Chispir didn’t live long enough to hear the last of his words. She went to dust and Grillby was left holding a shimmering pile of ash. Slipping through his fingers, his sister’s remains drifted to Flint, leaving his hands empty.

Even with the ringing of the village alarm bell still clanging, it sounded a hundred miles away and so distant. The house was on fire, at some point Grillby’s firestorm had caught something on fire in the other room, and despite the resistance to flames built into every surface his magic had eaten through the spell. But none of that seemed to matter. The glow of his niece’s egg seemed dimmer, the soul fluttering inside the egg falling still. Did the kid know she was now an orphan?

With a trembling hand, Grillby gently grasped the egg. There was a fierce battle outside, howls of the hounds and the clangor of steel beating against wood shields. The human army had found another way into the village. He needed to to back out there. He’d failed his family tonight… he couldn’t fail anyone else. A leather satchel was at the bedroom door, the heavy bag his sister used for groceries. Without hesitating, Grillby scooped up the bag and carefully placed his niece into it, swaddling the egg with cloth until it would not roll around. With one last look at the flickering green light under the shell, he tucked the wool strips around the egg and closed the flap. Pulling the strap over his armor he winced as the bag bumped against the back of his hip with every step, but the egg remained safely bundled.

Grillby walked through the burning building, not caring that the timbers were starting to crack and crumble under the flames. As he passed the remains of the cutthroats who had killed his sister and brother-in-law, Grillby’s fists clenched into white embered knuckles. A sword of pig iron was warping in the fire, only the hilt still held form.

It would do.

Taking the ruined sword from the dead human, Grillby channeled flames through the weak iron. The metal warped and reformed. With magic and heat, the blade sharpened, strengthened, and reforged itself as a molten metal weapon. It took almost no magic to bend a half-melted sword into a new shape.

Exiting the house, Grillby could see the monster guards had fallen back to the square, fending off humans from the riverfront. Gerson was bellowing orders at someone, a phalanx of shields popping into existence with his own magic. Grillby didn’t even wait for the tortoise to shout a command at him, he gestured at the path the humans were coming from and a second firewall rose to block them and burn any unfortunate enough to be in the middle of it when it went up.

“Your timing is exceptional, boy.” Gerson was sporting a new scar, his eye squinting half closed as dust speckled his cheek. At least luck favored the captain, the wound was shallow.

“...” Grillby grit his jaw, fending off a human with his flaming sword. The sword alone was enough to cause most humans to rethink their attack plans and back off.

Gerson was in the prime of his years, he’d seen a lot of fights. He’d seen a lot of grieving as well. The monster didn’t have to ask why Chispir didn’t follow Grillby. He knew the look of grief that Grillby wore. However Gerson was a career soldier, and they’d all have to survive the night first. Grief would come later.

Grief always came later.

The guard, bolstered by Grillby on both offense and defense, managed to shove the human attackers back hard and put enough distance between themselves and their army. The civilians were in bad shape, most were panicked and a few were wounded. A second, smaller group of humans were waiting at the northern gate. They had been waiting for fleeing monsters to pick off one by one. They hadn’t expected the entire city, backed up by the full guard to burst from the gate.

Every single one of those humans had lvl. Humans skilled at killing monsters. Rage burned deep in Grillby’s chest, painful embers that rubbed together and spat sparks. Hissing, he snapped the sword out in a sharp lash at the first human who stepped forward to block their exit. Though the human raised their own sword to block, they found it entirely ineffective when the metal of Grillby’s half-molten blade warped around their steel and splashed hot iron across their armor. Human armor isn’t designed to protect against liquid metal the soldier was quick to discover, before he expired. The blade reformed even as the next human stepped forward.

“Don’t fight them one by one! All of them at once!” Gerson was at Grillby’s side, a magic shield went up in time to block a glancing blow.

Rage made it hard to think, but Gerson’s words didn’t require a lot of thought to follow. Launching a volley of fireballs, Grillby doused the entrenched troops with flames, causing most to retreat. A second command from Gerson, and the hounds quickly sealed their own city gate behind them, destroying the locking mechanism and delaying the bulk of the human army inside the city.

After that, it was madness. Grillby didn’t even know where they were headed, just the desperate pace that was set was enough to cause the civilians to stagger and weaken. Rain started shortly after, and the rage that was clouding Grillby’s mind was washed away. After that, all he knew was pain.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cleaning this up as I go, as I roll with no beta (and sometimes with barely any proofreading). Awkward first chapter intro: DONE. Next up: Awkward reader chapter intro.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of Reader chapter! There will be no y/n or ____ to placehold blanks for reader's name... I will go mad before I do that.  
> ... oh shit, too late already made! Short chapter, due to the fact it was originally part of the first chapter.

The fire chuckled merrily, casting dancing orange lights across barn and yard. The whole area smelled of wet dog, burning trees and an earthy, rich smell that came after long rains. It was a pleasant scent (except for the wet dog scent, but you were used to that), so much better than the cities and their filth and smog. In the cities, the constant stench of waste and sickness was everywhere, and the underlying smell of _decay_ crept among it.

It didn’t help most people emptied their toilets into _the street_. Oh god, the _smell._ The further away from that hot mess you were, the better.

Sighing, you sat heavily on one of the oaken barrels that lined the huge kiln. The oven was the size of a small cottage and crackling merrily as it chewed through the newest wood, still green and spitting sap. You were a brickmaker by trade, often found yourself wondering if your life had been a series of unfortunate mistakes that led to this peaceful isolation. Home was a small farm at the base of the Mount Ebott where a river forked to either side of a sheer cliff face. There was everything you needed here for your trade… sand, gravel, clay, and water. All you had to do was make bricks in peace. Above all else, you were stubborn in your ways. So what if you were leagues from the nearest human village? There were neighbors just up the mountain that treat you just fine, thank you very much.

“Where would I go, after all? Back to the academy? And leave all this behind? Pft, no,” you said aloud, gazing blankly into the crackling flames that spit and hissed around the baking bricks. Setting up a brick masonry had been expensive. The kiln was not the small, cheap mobile units found throughout the city. It had eaten all the gold your husband had saved working an an apprentice and decimated his savings. Such a huge kiln was not suited for just one person though, and soon he had taken to training you how to be a mason as well.

And then the stubborn bastard had gotten himself killed. Not in the war though. Not even by brigands. He got himself killed by a donkey. Seemed a sort of justice… a stubborn man getting killed by a stubborn ass on a slick mountain road.

Not that his death didn’t still hurt though. Five years gone, and it was still a wound that would not heal.

Life was a series of unfortunate events. But giving up now and retreating to the city was more than you could bear. In one day, you had lost everything that had given your life meaning. So instead the you stayed at the foundry, with your memories and your bricks.

The whole world seemed at war. Man waging war on their neighboring cities…. On far off cities… and on the monsters. War never seemed to end. Every time the monsters stepped back in retreat from human armies, men would fight with themselves over the newly vacated land. The few monsters on Mount Ebott were cut from a different mold than the stories you had heard as a kid. Every child had heard the tales of how bloodthirsty monsters were, willing to cheat, kill, or otherwise do anything for a human soul. It was also the same thing said of mages though-- that they were vicious, devil-worshiping witches and warlocks who used human souls to raise the dead… and if you ever ran into the matron who had taught you all those things, you were going to throw a brick in the old crone’s face.

In the five years that you’d been on this mountain you found the monster inhabitants of Ebott kept to themselves. The few you met were kind and friendly. At first, you were sure it was just a few families at the top of the mountain, but year by year the village seemed to grow larger. For every settlement the monsters were pushed out of in the riverlands below, it seemed the city in the mountains grew larger.

“Hello, bird!” A small monster on the road waved, having to jump to be seen over the neat wall of bricks that surrounded the farm.

“Ah, is that Nibs?” You grinned, basking in the hot, dry heat from the kiln. Sure, you wore the heavy leather apron used for keeping sparks off of your fragile skin, and the heavy gloves for handling embers and hot bricks, but the mountain air was brisk (or as you called it ‘holy fucking shitballs, it’s cold!’). Even in layers of protective clothing, the mountain was cold in autumn.

“No, I am a roaming pile of salt!” Nibs was a small rabbit monster, so tiny that a human toddler probably could have gotten into a fight with him and come out victorious. You’d known each almost since you and your husband moved to the mountains, and been friends almost as long as that. It was hard not to be friends with the energetic monster.

“Yeah, that's what I said, 'Nibs'. My pronunciation must be different.” It was your typical greeting, general sass and soft insults.

The monster opened his mouth to retort back with a salty comeback, only to realize he was drawing a blank, “Yeah, I got nothing, that was a good one.”

“How was the trip down the mountain?” you queried.

The rabbit jumped up on the stone wall, seating himself comfortably at eye level to you. “It’s a good day for traveling. Just doing some scouting for traders or caravans on the road.” The rabbit sighed, “Nothing was on the main road.”

The ‘main road’ as little more than a gravel covered path that led to your small house. Merchants making monthly trips up the mountain to pick up bricks had the path covered in crushed rock for their convenience. Other than those few coming towards Mount Ebott for bricks, none ever bothered the long trip. No one ever went further than your cottage either. As far as the world knew, all that was up the mountain was snow.

“How’s your business?” Nibs asked.

Blowing a puff of air at a stray auburn lock of your hair that was threatening to fall into your eyes, you make a noncommittal sound, “Bricks, as usual. You?” Fishing a metal flask from your leather apron pocket, you uncapped it and took a long drink. It might be a bit early in the day for drinking, but you only took the one drink. Mostly because it was the most bitter, caustic vodka that has ever disgraced this earth, but it did it’s job.

Shaking the canteen at Nibs, you offer the rabbit a drink.

“It’s nine in the morning, bird!” Nibs protested, wrinkling his nose.

“I’m celebrating” you admit, taking one last tiny sip before closing the cap.

“Celebrating what?” he asked, but his expression said he clearly knew the answer.

“You visiting!” You paused, noting his unamused expression, “I’m celebrating the fact the sun rose today?” Still nothing. “I’m drinking in honor of the tree I had to cut down to burn these bricks. May it never be forgotten.” At this, Nibs sighed in defeat.

Frowning at the flask of liquor, Nibs kept his judgment to himself. You already knew he disapproved of drinking, but he tolerated your sips. You never got drunk anyway, just enough of a sip to remember this was really shitty liquor and regret your choices in not using it as paint thinner instead. “I was hoping to bump into a caravan today. We’re still missing some supplies, minor stuff really, but I was hoping to find it.”

Ah, that’s right, you had news, “Speaking of caravans… there is a caravan due up the mountain in a fortnight to pick up some bricks. I’ll be heading with them to the city on a supply run,” you paused, then looked down at Nibs, “Something you needed from the city? I could add it to the list?” There was a long standing agreement with the monster village that you had. They would request various supplies that they could not produce on their own, and if they were willing to wait you would request them during your trip to the nearest outpost. For the most part, merchants regarded you with a sort of pity and amusement watching a widow struggling to continue her husband’s business – they were usually fair with you… well, as fair as merchants get. The monsters though suffered from price gouging and were usually denied services at every turn. It was an easy thing for you to ask for the items that the monster village needed, and then deliver the supplies to them instead – acting as a sort of middle-man. The less the merchants knew who you were buying supplies for, the better.

Nibs perked up considerably, one flop ear lifting into the air while the other remained drooped over his eyes. “Thanks! Small list, and nothing urgent. Mind finding these supplies?” A prepared paper flew out of the monster’s pocket as he held it towards you.

You chuckled, catching a lock of stray auburn hair that had escaped the bun and tucking it behind your ear. “Nibs, you fluffy menace! Are you trying to run me ragged finding all these priceless-,” taking the list and peering at it, you read off some of the items, “thimbles, needles, and blue, red and purple threads! Such extravagances!”

Blushing, Nibs pulled his head to his shoulders, ears flopping down over his eyes. “For the missus, ma’am. Bone needles are a bit … unwieldy.”

Your teeth snap shut, almost clipping on your tongue as you realize you just put your foot in your mouth. You were teasing him about needing basic supplies, how would it be if you found awful people standing in front of the river, refusing to let you have clay and water? They’d get a brick to the head, for starters… but you could only stand being treated like an ‘it’ instead of person for so long before your spirit started to drain.

You had all the social grace of a surly yak.

“Don’t worry about it, I’d be glad to get your supplies for Mays. You are a lucky man, to have her.” you teased, more gentle this time.

At this, Nibs blushed even brighter, but a wide crescent smile split his face. “I know it, bird!” As his ears perked in excitement, Nibs smiled even wider, if possible. “But… thought you should know… Mays and I… we’re gonna be parents!”

There was a quick sting in the depths of your heart, but it was smothered it with a wide grin of genuine happiness for the little monster. “Already and so soon! You had your heart on her for the past three years, and only married last winter… fortune smiles on your family!” Meanwhile, fortune tended to wait until your guard was down, kick you in the ass, and laugh at you. You and fortune were not on speaking terms.

Kicking his legs with reckless joy, Nibs continued on, “Not so soon! It’ll be a year still until the dear heart is born. We’ve time to get things ready for them.”

“A year? How long til monster babies are born?” You had always kept your nose out of the monsters business, they seemed to appreciate it. But the subject had got you interested. You had never met a monster child before.

“A full year! Sometimes more though, but a year and no less. Once the wee one is walking, we’ll have to take a trip down the mountain, stop here and say hello.”

You had to fight the urge to coo at the thought. A tiny baby rabbit bouncing after Nibs would be lethal amounts of adorable. You could only picture a cottonpuff with lop ears. “Give me a chance to spoil them with candy, then?”

The monster laughed at this. “Y’may have to fight their grandmother for that. She’s _already_ stockpiling monster candy.” Nibs had introduced you to his mother once when you had brought a load of supplies up to their settlement. The little old lady was surprisingly spry for a monster nearing 400 years old. If it was going to turn into a contest on who could spoil the baby more, a human didn’t have a chance versus a monster grandmother who could (and did) run up the mountain every day to ‘get the blood flowing’.

Nibs slid off his own barrel, watching as you tossed a few more logs into the kiln and leaned back from the heat as a burst of embers was exhaled from the giant oven. There was a pause, “Need help, ma'am?”

“Nah, I’m good, can’t have both of us getting all muddy and covered in ash,” Wiping the back of your arm across your face, you panted in the heat of the fire. The few moments you had spent directly in front of the blazing kiln had caused sweat to bead on your forehead and drip into your eyes. There was an immediate itching sensation on your skin as you wiped the sweat away. The dried dirt on your forearm had mixed with the damp sweat, and you now have smudged a long trail of mud into your face.

Unsuccessfully stifling a laugh, Nibs pointing to his own face as he looked up at yours. “You’ve got a little something here.”

“Aw, not again!” you groaned, pulling free the clean cloth tucked into your apron belt and wiping it across your face, cleaning the dirt away. “Did I get it, this time?”

“Mostly… sorta…. Might have just made it worse though.” Nibs laughed, gesturing across his entire face at the new smudges you had just made on your cheeks. Great, now you had the gritty sensation that you’d just stuck your head in a bog.

“Laughing at a poor widow like this! I thought you were my friend!” You cried with mock-drama, snapping the cloth at Nibs.

“I am your friend! And as a friend, it is my duty to tell you, you are filthy.” Nibs dodged nimbly, avoiding the snap of the towel.

“Pfft, just my face!” you snark back, trying to snap the monster with the towel again.

Nibs bounded over the towel again, “Your face, your mouth, and I'm pretty sure your mind belongs in a gutter too!”

“You're lucky your adorable, you miscreant!” This was how your relationship with Nibs worked. He was the sweetest little guy on Ebott... with a mouth like a sewer sometimes and a temper that fit a monster five times his size. That rabbit had some balls on him.

You snorted as you tried to wipe the grit off your face again, “I have another hour with these bricks, then I can douse the fires and clean up. Be off, Nibs, it’s about to rain ash here.” Putting out the kiln always kicked up a frenzy of sparks and ash, coating anything unfortunate enough to be nearby in soot. Usually that meant you made a magical transformation into a ball of ash.

Giving a short wave, Nibs approached the brick wall and jumped over. You truly liked the little guy. You’ve never had a neighbor so kind, always quick with a smile and never asking anything you weren’t willing to help them with. These monsters put the best of humanity to shame.

“Ah, wait, let the others know: they have a fortnight only til I head out to trade! After that, I'll be hunkered down til winter passes.” You shouted after the monster as he headed up the mountain with a spring in his step.

Nibs waved in reply, then took three large bounds and covered the entire span of the road before he was out of sight.

You knew Nibs had been the runner between monster villages when he was younger, before you had met. He could travel from one side of the country to the other in only a single day, and used to carry letters and small supplies to other communities. But as the monsters began to get pushed out of their homes, they began to congregate on Ebott. Now Nibs mostly ran the mail across the settlement and to try and barter with the occasional trader that approached the mountain. His days of cross-country travel were done.

‘ _Just as well, no young wife likes to see her husband away for long,’_ you mussed. And the roads had become increasingly hostile towards travelers, both monsters _and_ human. Bandits, rogue armies, and even those greedy for an easy opportunity, all of them would have pounced on a small monster like Nibs traveling alone.

It made your blood boil. Your skin felt hot and itchy as the anger started to build up. Rage was an old friend. For years, every series of unfortunate events against you only made the anger stoke hotter and hotter until you were a ball of rage. Years of silent smirks, disgusted whispers, and cruel gossip had built a wall of iron, only cooling into an impassable shield with time. Now the fires of anger were burning again, this time not for yourself but for Nibs.

“First person who bothers Nibs is going to get a brick to the face,” you hissed, the kiln echoing your sentiments with it’s own hiss and crackle. “And that’s just where we’ll start, won’t we?” Patting the kiln like one would a dog, you watched the fire twist like an angry serpent inside.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Nibs made it up the mountain path to the monster settlement in only a few moments. There were two ways up Ebott, the winding road meant for wagons and carts, and a faster foot path that cut straight up the mountain side. Five years ago, it had just been a small band of monsters up here, all of them Nib’s immediate family. Now, however, the settlement had grown. Most humans didn’t know there was a settlement up here at all, and the monsters did all they could to keep that secret. Within the last year it had doubled in size and now with three times as many inhabitants. This was now an entire city, compacted into the top of the mountain in its valleys and plateaus. And they came by the dozens, entire towns emptied out and retreated to safety as armies shoved them out of their homes.

Two of the sentries at the mouth of the ravine lifted their white paws in greeting to him, and Nibs waved back. Further passed the sentries, the city suddenly sprang out of the rock itself, buildings carved into stone while smaller dwellings were built from slate and cast-off pieces of the mountain. Two ice drakes were soaking up the last sun of the day before twilight fell, one of them waved as Nibs came to a halt in front of his house.

“The Puffball was looking for you, Nicodemus!” One of the drakes called out, snowflakes spinning from it’s claws as it waved.

Nibs winced. His name was so awkward. Nicodemus sounded so… formal. And strange. Unfortunately, no matter how much he insisted, the only ones who would call him Nibs were Mays, his human friend and ‘The Puffball’.

“I’ll find him after I say hello to Mays.” Nibs nodded, one flop ear bobbing with the gesture.

The drakes began to howl with laughter as Nibs tugged open the door. How odd.

Oh. Wait. Never mind. Made perfect sense. In hindsight.

The Puffball was somehow… SOMEHOW, seated at the table with Mays, both of them drinking from steaming mugs. Despite the fact Puffball as large as their entire kitchen, he had hunched himself into something only slightly larger than the table, and was leaning over it with his fore-claw and thumb pinched delicately around the handle of a mug. The kitchen smelled like boiled ginger tea.

Mays grinned as her mate entered the kitchen, her lavender fur glossy in the kitchen light. “Nibs, darling! Puffball was just telling me of –,”

“Ah, n-no need to bother Nibs with it. I w-was just complaining. Got tired of complaining to myself, is all, I didn’t mean to vent on you, ma’am.” Shaggy blond hair fell into his face, his snout emerging from unkempt mane.

Smacking at his hand to scold him, Mays wrinkled her nose. “No! Puffy, you need help with this. What you are doing is the right thing, but you can’t do this alone. Even my Nibs wouldn’t try that on his own, and he was courier and runner for years!”

Leaving his coat on the kitchen doorframe, Nibs hung back from sitting at the table as well. Mostly because there was no room at the table with the Puffball sitting there. However he figured what his wife meant in short order. Puffball was toying with a tiny scrap of paper in his massive paws. “List of supplies?”

Nodding, the Puffball tucked the paper away, fiddled with the mug, his claws scraping the ceramic. “Just… stuff. I’m not sure where we are going to find it all. I was hoping the new arrivals might have some of the items they’d be willing to part with… but no one came with a lot of stuff. Doesn’t seem right to try and take it from them.”

Nibs patted a paw on the table, leaning forward. “Well, I happen to have a friend who would love to help, Puffball.”

Lifting his head quickly as he perked up, the crown of his skull met with the ceiling with a soft bang. Puffball winced. “Golly, really? I mean… the stuff the on the list isn’t really hard to find… just… there’s a lot?”

“She’s about to make the trip to the outpost. I’m sure she can haul whatever we need back up here.” Nibs replied. “Want to meet the infamous ‘human friend’ I have?”

“Oh.” Puffball stilled, one paw over the top of his budding horns. “I didn’t realize it’d be a human who… oh, guess that makes sense though.” The boy fell silent, thinking it over.

“Puffball, don’t tell me you are afraid of a tiny human! She’s just a little bird, and a bit shy. She likes her privacy, is all.” Mays scolded.

“I’m not afraid!” Puffball declared, barely able to avoid stammering the words.

“Good! Then you may go see her in the morning!” Mays fired back, finishing her cup of tea and putting it neatly on the table.

Nibs tried not to laugh. His wife was so fiery, their child would be lucky to have such a mother. When they were born, Mays would be endlessly doting on the kid without a doubt. And speaking of...

“Where’s the egg, love?” Nibs was glancing at his mate, expecting to be holding the egg as she had yet to put it down in the past week.

Giggling, Mays reached up to ruffle his cheek fur. “I couldn’t get anything done carrying it around. I put the little dear heart there.” Gesturing to an open-topped crate stuffed with soft rags and cloth remnants.

Nibs when to go greet his child, pulling back the fabric to reveal a glowing egg, a small soul inside lighting the egg like a lantern. “Hello poppit!” Nibs leaned down, kissing the egg. The soul fluttered. “Yes, I know, you are eager to come out! But you have a whole year to go!” Fluttering again, the soul seemed to stir at his voice.

Puffball was leaning over his shoulder (really, Puffball could lean over anyone’s shoulder) and looked down at the egg. “Can you tell what it’s going to be yet?”

“They’re going to be _amazing!”_ Mays says, deflecting the question. “Doesn’t matter what they’ll be. I can’t wait to meet them.” Motherly pride radiated off the monster.

Patting the egg one last time, Nibs covered it with the cloth until only a slight glow came from the pile. Monster eggs didn’t need incubation like chicken eggs, just time, magic and love. And he was determined to give this one as much love as it could soak. “Well Puffball, want to meet tomorrow to head down the mountain to meet my human friend? She leaves for the outpost for supplies in… oh what’d she say… foto… fort-something… fourteen days?”

“Fortnight,” Mays corrected.

“Same thing!” Nibs shrugged. “Humans are an odd lot. Apparently fourteen days are special to them, so it becomes a fortnight.”

Humans were a lot of things… ‘odd’ was the nicest thing that he could say though. Nibs had been chased through human towns while trying to make it to monster villages. He had rocks and dung thrown at him by children. One human city has released hounds to chase him through a field like a wild hare. It had only taken two years of being spat at by every human until Nibs couldn’t take passing even within shouting distance of a human town. The best runner in the monster kingdom had lost his desire to travel, in fear of humans cornering him somewhere he couldn’t flee from.

Why he had decided to be friends with a human at the foot of Mount Ebott was still a mystery to him. Nibs could have done what every other monster had done, and simply avoided you. He was sure you didn’t care when monsters made a wide path through the woods to avoid your homestead. You made your home in such isolation, he was certain you wanted the quiet… or maybe really didn’t want visitors.

Just… one day Nibs had been making his frequent trek up the mountain from another message run, and noticed a privacy wall of fresh bricks had literally sprung up along the road overnight, boxing in the small farm that had been quietly nestled there. Nibs had been curious, he’d never seen more than just one person on that farm… did a single person put up a half-wall overnight?

The answer had been ‘yes’. You were … a literal force of nature. Driven by pride and stubbornness, if you set out to do something then by god you would do it. Hard work didn’t scare you off, getting your hands dirty was just another part of the job. So when Nibs had leaned over the wall one winter and called a wary hello, your equally as surprised ‘hello’ called back to him. But you hadn’t been afraid, or aggressive. Instead, you offered to make tea while you sat beside the kiln, waiting for bricks to finish baking.

After that, Nibs been trying to jump the river that flanked your house, when he spotted you half in the river, digging easily accessible clay out of the side of the cliff face. Trying to call hello startled you, and over you went into the knee high water. You popped back out of the water moments later, but now coated from entirely mud and clay, and he took one look at you and burst out laughing.

So you hit him in the head with a mudball.

He retaliated by spattering you a tidal wave of water after he fell into the river too.

As there was no possible way for a clay-covered, soaked human to get dirtier, Nibs quickly surrendered before it could turn into a mud slinging contest. You had offered him a towel to clean off, both had a laugh at how dirty they were, and were then on their way.

In the spring he’d bumped into you again, as covered in mud as you had been in the river. This time you had been trying to plant a garden, despite the lack of a farm-able land, there were at least a few patches of dirt that would work for a small garden. Nibs had offered a hand, and showed you a few tips on how to plant things in the mountain soil. Then he had turned a bucket of water over on you to help ‘wash off’. You thanked him by dropping a dirt clod on his head, then giving him the remainder of the vegetable seeds for his own garden.

Nibs came to the conclusion that you just really enjoyed throwing dirt around. Must be a human way of bonding. Though you hadn’t hit him with any mud in almost two years now.

“You’ll be coming here tomorrow then, to head down the mountain with me?” Nibs asked Puffball.

“Oh… uh… no, I can do it. On my own! I’m not… some kid that needs hand holding.” Puffball was blushing. Hard to tell under that dense white pelt of fur, but Nibs had known the kid since he was a toddler. Granted, as a toddler, Puffball was the same size as Nibs was now.

Mays cut in, “Just be polite to her! She’s been through a lot, poor bird.”

“A lot of what?” Puffball asked, his floppy ears swinging low as he dipped his head to look at Mays.

“A lot of everything.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the cinnamon roll!  
> I will write nothing but fluff unless stopped. My addition is snuggles. *death by fluff*

With ten days left until the caravan arrived, you had started an inventory of the bricks to make sure you could meet the order. That meant pulling the bricks out from their spot you had been stacking them in the barn to recount. Several thousand flanders – meant for a bathhouse – and countless white modern bricks that the vicar favored were carried out of the barn, then painstakingly carried back IN as each was counted. Broken bricks were inevitable, and you always had to plan on losing at least a few dozen of any type for the long ride into the city.

The bricks didn’t weigh much on their own, but if you repeatedly lift and then put down a five or ten pound brick over and over… you end up getting arms like a tree trunk. At this point, you were fairly confident you could probably grab a knight in full armor and cradle them like a baby. It was hard work to craft bricks, and there was no one else around to do the back breaking labor but yourself.

With the full order of white bricks counted out, you gazed down at the jumble of glazed bath tiles you still had to go. Your back hurt. Your arms hurt. And even with the protection of thick leather gloves, your fingers ached from holding the bricks. Reaching into the heavy pocket of your apron, you pulled out the little metal flask of liquor and made to drink the whole thing. You had earned it! If booze helped numb the agony of strained muscles, you were going to drink until you couldn't remember what thumbs were for! A break was in order, something more than chugging whatever remained in the flask too.

Shuffling into the barn, you tugged a heavy canvas tarp off of a shelf and tossed it over a bale of hay. Makeshift bed: completed. Flopping onto it though, something sharp jammed into your spine. With a hiss, you pulled back the canvas and spotted part of the oxen’s yolk sitting out of the hay bale.

Your brain was quick to remind you that you still needed to do upkeep on the yolk and wagon, or risk it splintering and breaking while the oxen dragged a cart full of bricks with the caravan. Damn being responsible. Well, so much for a break. Giving a resigned sigh, you rose to your aching feet and tried to find the oil and sanding block to clean the yolk. At least you had the beginnings of a pleasant buzz going on from your drink.

A sullen rooster prowled the inside of the barn while his flock of hens quickly left the building to scratch around outside. The two oxen were contentedly dozing in their stalls, far too lazy to care much of what was going on outside. Once upon a time, the oxen had been intended to try and plow through the few rocks and clear the land for farming. That project had failed miserably when the ‘few rocks’ turned out to be boulders ten feet deep buried and the soil was entirely sand and gravel. Yet another series of unfortunate events. But still, the oxen had proven useful for hauling heavy bricks out for orders and carrying supplies back to the homestead. For a few months every year, you had extra milk after the female calved too.

“If you were oil, where would you be?” you asked the rooster as you sifted through the shelf of items.

The rooster, apparently offended by the question, puffed up, and crowed. Then he strut across the barn to the opposite side, long legs making the bird look like a preening peacock.

“So why’d the rooster cross the barn?” Now you questioned the oxen instead, finally finding the oil can behind a crate of leather scraps.

A strange, smooth voice from behind answered you, “Is this a riddle, or a joke? I’m afraid not very good at those.”

OH shit.

“HELLFIRE.” You swore, spinning and chucking the oil can at the speaker. There was a metallic ‘chunk’ as the can hit something dense.

“Ow!”

The speaker was _massive_ , broad shoulders with heavy armor that glinted in the dim barn light. Backing to the wall, your hands scrambled across the pegboard behind you and finally closed around a weapon… It ended up being a brush for the oxen. No matter... improvised weapon! So you chucked that at the speaker too. Fear slammed against your chest, making it hard to breath, but your aim found it’s mark.

“Ow! Uncalled for!”

“Yer lucky I haven’t found something sharp yet, let me keep looking!” Keeping your voice from cracking in fear was a big achievement. Good job! Backing further along the wall, keeping an eye on the intruder, you found the next tool was better, a shovel. You would club them into sweet, blissful unconsciousness, and bury them in an anthill somewhere. Plan! Go!

“Wait!” Removing his hand from his face, the intruder looked up. You retreated a step back further, not quite sure what you were looking at.

Yep. Furry Goat Monster. It was a six foot tall, and while he wore heavy armor it was very finely crafted. Too fine to be used in battle really, it was entirely for show. While a heavy white pelt covered him entirely, what seemed to be blond hair flopped down in his eyes, giving him the look of a docile yak.

‘ _Another unfortunate event… oh good, I was overdue.’_ Your mind preformed a spectacular belly-flop, and you were left bewildered.

Seeing the human was no longer throwing things at him, but instead clutching the shovel, the white furred monster rubbed his head one more time before speaking. “I’m sorry for startling you, but Nibs said that you would be taking a list of supplies?”

“I… I,” Swallowing, your suddenly thick tongue, the panic slowly died away at mention of Nibs’ name, “I am so sorry, I thought you were... Oh hellfire, did throwing the can do _that?”_ Dropping the shovel, you raised one hand to your own forehead in horror at the bump on the monster’s head. Taking two steps forward, you stopped in an awkward moment, not sure if trying to help would be welcome after assaulting someone. Was there a protocol of apology after almost clocking someone in the head with a shovel?

Raising a white paw to his face, the monster rubbed at the side of his head. A dry chuckle, sounding sheepish escaped him as his claw tips reached the ‘lump’. “This? No, this would be a horn… it would be quite a lump if you hit me once with a can and I got a lump on each side. It was my fault though, I should have knocked before entering the property.” Now that the monster had lifted his head, you could see two very tiny horns that were starting to grow above his eyebrows.

Guilt struck, clawing at your guts. Nibs had been nothing but a kind gentleman to you, and frequently told you how shy monsters were around humans. First monster besides Nibs and Mays to formally introduce himself, and you celebrated by throwing a cow brush and an oil can at his head. Hooo boy, did _you_ know how to show hospitality. There was a reason you lived in the literal middle of nowhere… you weren’t good with people.

Heat rose in your face, and you knew you were turning bright red in embarrassment. The blush felt as hot as coals… you had been taunted as a child for turning red when you blushed. Reflexively, you covered your face with both hands. ‘ _I wonder if the King needs a jester,_ _am the largest fool in the land.’_

Your mind taunted you further, bringing up scenes in the past where you had done similar stupid, embarrassing things. ‘ _Thank you, brain… that’s exactly what I needed to remember right now.’_

‘ _You are welcome… HEY! Remember that time you knocked over a bookcase at the library at the academy during lecture? Boy! Wasn’t THAT stupid?’_ Your brain taunted.

“I’m sorry, please forgive me. I don’t have many guests other than Nibs,” Mumbled from behind your hands, you bowed slightly so your hair tumbled from your bun and hid your face further.

The soft, polite laugh again. “It is fine. Though I am unsure if this is a human gesture.”

“T-throwing things at guests?” You asked, still hiding your face.

This time the laugh sounded genuinely amused. “No, the gesture, this?”

Looking up from your hands, you feel your face burn in an entirely new color of red. They’d have to name this shade after you for discovering it. The white monster was bowing, lower than out were, with both hands cupping his face.

He thought it was a human gesture of greeting, apparently.

“Ground, please swallow me up. I am an idiot.” A low whimper escaped your throat.

Suddenly a dawning realization struck the monster. “oh OH, you are embarrassed. This wasn’t – I am… truly sorry. A series of misunderstandings.”

“Aye, but that would be my life so far,” you chuckled with dark humor. “Now that I’ve throw the appropriate amount of items at you and felt really bad about it, please tell me there is something I can do to apologize.” Standing up, both of you now staring at each other without hands covering faces. The newcomer gestured to the outdoor work yard, leaving the barn (and presumably getting away from any projectiles that could be grabbed from the barn).

The monster clacked his fore-claws together, short talons that he uneasily toyed with as he spoke, “Umm, I was told that you were about to leave shortly to get supplies at an outpost? Would it be too much to to ask if you could get a few supplies for Home as well? I, um… I can pay you for any time and supplies you--,”

“Oh nononono,” you raised both hands, waving them as if to ward off anything, “don’t pay me to be a middleman. I can pick up supplies! Nibs usually offers payment in goods anyway, we trade--,” however you were cut off mid sentence.

The monster opened his palm, revealing a handful glittering objects. Gold, raw, unminted gold. “What I need to find is a bit too expensive to pay in goods alone, and I don’t have a trade craft to exchange with. Would this be fair?” His voice was even, soft, and if you were a bit honest, sounded like a shy teenage boy.

Your mouth was half unhinged, and every attempt you made to close it only resulted it in almost falling back open again. That was probably more gold that you were going to receive for three months of work, hell, in maybe a full year of work. And he needed _that_ many supplies? A dozen questions trundled through your head, shoving and tripping over each other until a question finally came to mind.

Or rather, two questions came to mind at the same time. You were torn between asking ‘What is it you need?’ and ‘Who are you?’

…. instead what came out was “Who is it you need?”

There was a long pause.

“Excuse me.” You said quickly. Turned on heel so your back was to the white furry monster, and then clapped both hands to your face as you went as red as the brickwork. A long whine escaped as you wished the ground would eat you whole again. Come on, ground, stop being lazy!

Laughter again, this time soft apologetic chuckles of someone trying not to laugh out loud at you. “Um, can we sit down? I can explain the list of stuff we need. Oh! And I do need to introduce myself.”

Looking over your shoulder, struggling to turn any color other than red (and failing), you gave the shaggy goat monster an awkward glance. “I’m not the best hostess for manners either…” you managed to stammering out your name, “I'm a brickmaker and newly appointed jester of the land.” You liked poking fun at yourself. For starters, you never complained about your own sense of humor.

And secondly, you were such an easy target, to be the butt of your own jokes.

“Asgore Dreemur, son of the King of Monsters.” The monster bowed, ears swinging with the gesture, then added, “and most experienced monster in the land for catching oil cans with my face.”

In a single instant, you went red again in shame. Though that could also be because Asgore had taken your free hand and pressed your fingers against his forehead, as if he were the vicar. There you were, standing in scuffed and blackened leather boots, wearing a heavy leather smock and absolutely covered in ash and clay in front of a porcelain white monster who looks as if dirt couldn’t stick to him if it tried. Welp, good to know you could always feel like trash, even around monsters.

Leading Asgore to a bench that was alongside the house, bathed in the heat from the kiln, you took a seat and patted the bench. It wasn’t until the monster had taken a seat cautiously, that you could find your voice again. The damned blush was still there. But if luck were on your side, perhaps he’d assume this was your natural color.

“Well… what can I do for you then, Sir Asgore… sir.” You hadn’t had to deal with anyone but uneducated laborers or human merchants or Nibs for so long, you no longer remembered protocol for speaking to someone of rank. Sir, right? That’s what you call someone of higher birth than yourself? No wait… was royalty ‘my lord’ or something?

‘Sir’ seemed to embarrass Asgore and he fidgeted. “After we … relocated here… we found we were lacking in a lot of supplies. My father was trying to have the guards ask around to see if we have anyone who can make them, or people who brought extra items, but… well I don’t think we have that many extra supplies. B-but humans would! If you wouldn’t mind finding-,” Digging out a folded scrap of paper from a pocket, Asgore held it out to you gently, almost timidly.

The list was a sundry of items, some were basic supplies like paper and flint, and others were blacksmiths crafted goods. None of it should be hard to find, but hellfire… the kid had one heck of a pile of stuff he needed.

Almost enough to support an entire city. How big was Home anyway now?

“Ah… Asgore?” You looked over the list again, a bit unsure. “How many monsters are up there exact? This is… an awful lot of stuff.”

Looking uncomfortable, Asgore scratched at an ear. “Well… most of us.”

That was neither a definitive answer, nor one that put you at rest. Had the entire population of monsters relocated to Ebott?

You had seen more monsters than normal on the mountain recently. A few new white dogs, a small phalanx of skeletons who had ascended the mountain without stopping, and the a few other strange monsters. Certainly not enough to add up to ‘all of them’, though.

Your arms crossed uncomfortably over your apron before you asked, “And how old are you? Are you a kid?” The moment you said it, you felt like you had just put your foot in your mouth… dammit… well it wasn’t the first time. Not even today!

“I’m not a kid!” Asgore puffed up. No really, he _literally_ got fluffier, “I’m 10!”

Trying to keep a straight face, and succeeding only by force of will, you gave a deep hum of acknowledgment to keep from giggling. Oh no, he really _was_ a kid! With all the indignation that a normal human kid would have even. “Ah, my mistake, sir,” you said, telling yourself you were going to dive straight into the kiln if you laughed at him now.

“You don’t have to call me, sir. That’s what people call my father. But… not me. People call me all sorts of silly nicknames. Like Puffball, Fluffy, stuff like that.” Asgore lowered his head, his floppy ears and blond hair covering his face. Shoulders hunched slightly, and you notice for the first time the armor was actually really too large for the kid. He wore some kind of striped tunic under the armor.

“Just Asgore then?”

“That’s fine.”

“Well then, ‘Just Asgore’, it’s nice to meet you.” You held your hand out, in a proper human-style handshake. The monster's paw was larger than your hand, it was as if you were shaking hands with a massive cotton ball.

“Nice to… wait a minute.” Asgore suddenly realized the awful joke you had made, and got a dull, disgusted look on his face that spread into a smile. “My dad makes jokes like that all the time. They are awful.”

“But you’re smiling.” You chirped, grinning.

“Only a little!”

Kids were so much easier to deal with than adults. They were… pure, for lack of anything better to describe them by. They hadn’t seen the awful things the world could dish out. They hadn’t yet learned hate or mockery, and even at 10 years old, Asgore had yet to bow under the weight of the world on him.

Kids, you could handle.

Looking over the list one last time, you tried to do some figures in your head on how much the wagon could tow. A literal ton of bricks was no problem, but how much did all this stuff that Asgore want weigh? And could it all be fit on the wagon? You had a large list of your own supplies that would need to fit on the wagon as well. This would take some clever packing.

“Did your king really expect you to be able to find this among your people? I mean… it’s a lot of stuff.” You were doing sums on the list as you peered up at the monster.

Asgore kicked a foot at the ground and disturbed a large pile of ash with a black poof of dust, leaning forward until his forearms rested across his knees. This hunched position made him look like a dejected child. “I dunno, He didn’t… _ask_ me to do this. I just found the list… on my own. But they need their supplies too.” He said sullenly. “I thought it’d be better if I bargained for it rather than ask refugees if they brought it with. Then our people don’t have to lose what they brought with.”

You didn’t know what to say. The kid had compassion, and was willing to reach a hand out towards humans rather than hurt his own people. Giving a smile, you reached forward and ruffled Asgore’s wild blond mane. “Yer a good kid.”

And that’s how you found out what a blushing goat monster looked like.

“Are you going t’get in trouble for coming to me? Is this gold going to get you in trouble?” You asked, ready to hand the gold back and force it into his pocket if you had to.

Shaking his shaggy head, Asgore looked a bit unsure though. “I don’t think there would be trouble? No one said we couldn’t ask humans for help. And the gold is mine! I found it underground, in the cave--,” Then he paused, eyes widening slightly. “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“What, you’ll have to repeat that. I’ve got quite suddenly deaf. That blasted loud fire, all day!” You rubbed the palm of your hand against one ear, but smiled at the kid and winked.

“The fire isn’t lou--,” Asgore started, then paused. A wide smile suddenly spread across his face, revealing quite a few sharp canines that humans certainly didn’t have. It made him look less frightening that you would have thought that, just a large fluffy puffball with teeth. “Oh! Yes! I said nothing, never mind!”

With a few last questions about the supplies Asgore needed (‘If I can’t find blue dyed wool cloth, is plain cloth okay’? And ‘do you really need 20 bottles of honey?’) you felt you could probably fit all the supplies on the wagon and tie them safely down for the return trip. There was an awkward amount of heavy materials they wanted to bring up the mountain. The poor oxen wouldn’t be very fast or happy with this trip.

Asgore rather timidly asked, “Do you live here by yourself, ma’am?”

This question usually set alarms on every one of your senses. It wasn’t safe for women to live by themselves.... But, Asgore was a kid. If you couldn’t trust a child, there was literally no one to trust. “Yes, just me. And the oxen, and chickens. And one very hungry fire.” You pat the kiln fondly, which was grumbling through a load of white clay bricks at the moment.

“You have a very nice farm, human! I like your tame fire.” Asgore said, springing to his feet, examining the large kiln at a distance.

“Thanks, boyo. But fire is never tame.” You shook your head, dusting ash out of your hair. “Fire is a hungry, greedy jerk, who I keep happy by shoving logs into it’s maw.”

“So...” Asgore pondered this, peering into the kiln. “It is an awful roommate?”

Giving a small chuckle, you had to agree, “Yes, it’s the worst. But at least it does it’s job. I can’t possibly… _fire_ it. But don’t worry, you’ll _warm_ up to it.”

The amusement on Asgore’s face peeled away at the pun. “Noooo, why? I was having such fun talking to you.” The rumble of inferno in the kiln started to hiss as it burned into a fresh log and boiled the sap, as if the flame were offended by the pun as well.

That only made you laugh more. “Oh, hush, hush you great, fiery sack of sad. Shhhh, shh shh shh.” Patting the brick with each ‘shh’, you mock-hushed the kiln. Almost on queue, the rumble of fire soothed to it’s normal sustained roar, coals popping as the sap evaporated. “See, all it does is whine and moan all day. Even then, it’s no _match_ for me.”

Acting a little bit silly was worth it for the great big grin Asgore now wore.

The kid was curious about the human dwelling, you could see that plainly. Asgore pretty much itched to poke his head in and look around. It felt like the young monster was dying to know what humans were like. Somehow you had the feeling you were the first human he had spoken with.

Might as well made a good impression on the behalf of the rest of shitty humanity. “Want to see what a human house is like?” You offered.

Asgore looked simultaneously excited and embarrassed. “Can I?”

“Might as well. If you grow much larger, you aren’t going to be fitting inside anymore!” Patting his shoulder -- which was already taller than your own-- you reached back to untie the heavy leather work apron. You did your best to keep the ash from tracking inside the house, shucking off any dirty clothing at the doorway. However, ashes seemed to always been in everything no matter what you did.. Shaking out the worst of the ashes from the apron and then dusting your pants off, you noticed Asgore removing his heavy cloak and doing the same as well. This puffball was a cinnamon roll. Also, the puffball was actually not as big as he looked… the cloak added about twice the size to him. The kid was a scrawny guy.

“Here, leave your cloak on the pole,” You pushed open the door and draped the apron on a peg. “Also you might want to duck, bit of a low entry.”

Your warning came half a second too lake.

TOK.

“Ow.”

“Ah boyo, are you alright?” Turning to the kid, you brushed the shaggy mane out of his eyes, spotting a new growing lump on his forehead. He got himself dead center of his skull. Tears were starting to well at the corners of his eyes.

“I-I’m fine. Happens all the time. It was only a little ding, anyway.” He smiled bravely. Rubbing at his forehead, he palmed the pain away.

“Well...” You hesitated, wanting to coddle the kid, but knowing no self-respecting 10-year-old would want that. “Mind the doorways. They’re all built for tiny humans.” Stepping into the house, you waited for the kid to enter the room before shutting the door behind them.

The house was entirely made of brick and stone. Why bother with timber walls if you can just craft bricks? Blue glazed tile wrapped around the entire room, and heavy ceramic tile floors that resembled slabs of granite ran the entire room. Asgore was entranced by the blue tile, running one paw along it, his claws scraping against the grout.

“Golly! You made all the tile in here?” The kid ran a hand down the wall as he followed. The house was almost already too small to fit Asgore. He filled the entire doorframe as he passed through, and even standing straight up in the largest rooms his head was only a few inches from the ceiling.

“Yes. Or… helped anyway.” You could remember helping your husband with the room, back you were first married. It had taken a full year before you had finally grasped how the kiln and process worked. You might not have been the fastest learner, but the two of you had worked hard.

The kitchen was a bit larger than the main room, taller ceilings allowed for a large fire pit to burn safely without scorching the ceiling. A stone hood hung over the firepit, capturing the smoke and funneling it outside. Brass kettles and pots hung from the hood, making cooking as easy as possible.

Thank god for that. Because otherwise, you'd be eating cinders and charcoal. Your cooking was... not the best.

“You’ve got another tame fire in here!” Asgore said, delighted. “This one is better behaved.”

The kitchen fire was down to embers. “Well, we’ve got to have a fire indoors, otherwise it’d be ice _coal_ -d!” Asgore gave you a look of awed horror at your pun.

You were amused by the kid’s exuberance… but didn’t monsters use fire to cook? Or was this just Asgore having no idea how food was prepared?

Poking all the pots and kettle as he passed, Asgore peered through a room just off the kitchen. “What’s this room?”

“That’s my room. Where I sleep.” You looked into the room, at least grateful it wasn’t too messy. You didn’t spend a lot of time sleeping nowadays, too much work to do. But if there had been clothes strewn everywhere it would have been embarrassing. All your socks and undergarments were carefully corralled in a basket in the corner of the room… which was starting to form into a miniature version of Mt Ebott. You quickly reminded yourself laundry day was eminent.

“Your bed is so tiny!”

And of course, the room was instantly fascinating to Asgore.

Letting the boy explore, you swung the kettle over the fire on it’s hook, letting the water inside come to a boil. Every few moments, Asgore would discover time tiny human trinket and ask about it. Hand mirror, hair pins… socks… it was all fascinating to him.

“What’s in this room?” Asgore asked, pushing open a closed door as you pulled the kettle off the fire with a heavy mitt.

“Wait, no, that room is…,” You fumbled the hot kettle, almost grabbing the handle with your bare hand as you rushed to stop Asgore.

But the door was already open by the time you rushed down the hall. Looking into this room, all Asgore saw was a baby crib, carved from wood, and empty. There were small wooden toys on a piece of furniture. A child’s room.

“I didn’t know you had kids!”

“I… don’t.” You came to an awkward halt in front of the monster boy. You felt the cold twist of dread sinking into your chest.

A long pause. Almost too long. “Oh.” And in that sound was complete understanding. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to intrude.” He said, head hanging in shame.

Guilt prickled at your chest. Asgore felt bad for exploring. Kids shouldn’t have to worry about offending people by being curious. “It’s… ok. You didn’t mean to. Do you want some tea?” You tugged on his hand, pulling him away from the door so you could shut the memories out.

“What’s a ‘tea’?” Asgore asked, ducking under a doorframe back into the kitchen as he followed.

“It’s… leaves? You boil water and leaves, and it makes a drink.” Oh awkward, did monsters not drink tea? All you had was water to offer if he didn’t care for tea. Well, and spirits, but there was no way you were offering a kid alcohol.

Pulling the kettle out, you poured steaming water into smaller teapot, then opened a ceramic canister and fished out a handful of tea leaves. “See, tea… before you can drink it.” Holding your hand up you let Asgore get a good look before dumping the leaves into the pot. “Then you let it sit for a few minutes, and drink it.”

“You drink the leaves?”

“Oh. No, that'd be gross. You drink the … uh… tea-water. You throw the leaves away.” Finding a set of teacups from the cupboard, you set them on the table. Then you remembered to find the sugar bowl as well. No lemons though, the storage cellar had run out of them during late spring. One more thing you’d have to restock while in the city.

Asgore watched curiously as you took a seat and then beckoned him down as well. The chair _barely_ fit him, and his knees bumped into the table. It was… adorable. Watching a 10 year old, 6 foot tall monster try and hunch into a table, unsure of this ‘tea’, but willing to try. As you poured the tea, the kid discovered the sugar dish.

And then the kid promptly demolished said sugar dish.

‘ _Well that was expected.’_ You were grinning as you watched Asgore drop a literal monster sized handful of sugar into his tea. It was going to be a sugar slurry, but you weren’t going to tell the kid no for his first time trying it. ‘ _I’ll be picking up more sugar when I go to the outpost too.’_

Testing his tea, Asgore paused, then wrinkled his snout. “It’s… very sweet.”

“That’s because you added a biiit much sugar. Here, lets water it down with tea again.” Dumping half of his over-sweetened tea into your empty mug, you filled the remaining cup with tea again.

This time it seemed to be to his tastes. “Oh, leaves can be good!”

“Mhmmm,” you hummed agreement, taking a drink of tea. Wow, did the kid ever sweeten the ever-loving hellfire out of the tea. You took the liquor flask from your pocket, and surreptitious poured some in before Asgore could notice. The booze didn’t really go with tea, but it masked some of the overwhelming sugar taste before you could gag on it.

Gazing back at the child’s bedroom, Asgore was pondering something, but he never asked it. At least for that, you were grateful. Instead, the kid asked all about how humans cooked food. It seemed a novel thing to him.

“Well… how to monsters cook food then?” You were a bit unsure you had managed to describe cooking correctly when you had said ‘we put food on the fire’… that made it sound like you just throw your meal directly on the flames. That was how _not_ to cook… but usually what it ended up like, to be honest.

“Magic.” He said, simply.

“Ah.” You should have expected that, “Does that… uh….destroy the kitchen?”

Asgore gave a small laugh, taking a drink of tea. “No! We can do small magics, it doesn’t have to be big.”

What a novel idea… it didn’t have to be big? Why didn’t anyone tell mention this before? Ah yeah, that’s right, humans fear magic. “And all monsters can do it? Cook with magic?”

“Well… no. Some are really bad at it. But there are monsters who are really good at it, like wow, so good.” Asgore admitted. “I hear some monsters learned to cook like humans, so it must be easy to do.”

“Eeeehh,” You made a noise that sounded a bit like a bumblebee slowly disagreeing. “It mean, anyone can learn, but it’s not always easy. I have burned many, _MANY_ meals. I’m certain my husband didn’t marry me for-...for...ah.” Well THAT killed that conversation. You are going to have to keep a tally on how many conversation you kill someday.

“You… are a widow?” Asgore was perceptive. You had told the kid you lived alone, he had seen the child’s room. It didn’t take much to make the leap of logic.

“Yeah. He’s been gone now, five years. But … I do still miss the big lug.” Leaning a palm to your cheek and resting your chin on it, you gave a wan smile.

Nodding, Asgore fumbled with the teacup. “Nibs said you didn’t have a mate. I don’t think he ever got to meet him.”

Oh dear, awkward city was going to give you the key to the gates if you kept this up. You masked a wince with a large gulp of tea. You knew Nibs well, but you didn’t realize he was telling the King’s son about you. “Yeah, he was gone by then. I was in mourning when I met Nibs, I think.” Mourning was traditionally two years, and the widow was expected to wear mourning clothing for that period. However out in the middle of nowhere, with no proper human neighbors to see and needing to work, you hadn’t bothered with the black clothing. But five years later, you supposed you were still in mourning.

Reaching out, Asgore pet your hand gently. “I’m sorry you lost your mate.”

“Thanks sweetie.” You weren’t sure what to say. Asgore paw had soft pads under the fur, it felt like being pet by a kitten. “But you don’t need to be sorry. I’ve--,” you hesitated. ‘Moved on’ is what you would have said, but it would have been a lie. “Been well,” you said instead.

Finishing his tea, Asgore poked his head into the cellar as well as the bathroom before he was completely satisfied he now knew what a human dwelling looked like. The kid probably could have spent half the day fiddling with knicknacks or pawing through books, and the other half of the day he could easily have spent following you and asking questions. He had a spark to learn, and a fire driving him. You liked the kid.

“Thank you the tea! And for letting me see the inside of your house! Um, it was very pretty.” Asgore retrieved his cloak, fiddling with it with his claws.

Giving him a genuine smile, you pat his shoulder again. “Anytime. Well, as long as you don’t get too much larger. Get any bigger and we’ll be having tea outside only.”

“I may come back?” Asgore seemed amazed, eyes widening.

“Sure. When I’m not switching bricks. I don’t mind company. I promise, I won’t throw things at you again.” You lifted a hand to rub at the back of your head nervously. ‘ _Oh lord, please do not let this kid startle me while holding a brick, I do NOT want to break this promise.’_ You quickly add, “Maybe just say ‘Howdy’ before you come in, next time!”

Grinning in joy, Asgore reached out and plowed into you, putting you in a hug that cause your ribs to creaking and caused all the air to leave your lungs with a forceful ‘whoosh’! “Thank you, Ma’am! I’ll visit again!”

“N-no problem,” you wheezed. ‘ _Forgive me, my ribs, it was worth it.’_

After he let you go, Asgore gave you an excited pat on the back as well, which made a puff of ash from your shirt. Ok, well… maybe that upgraded the laundry deadline to today! What color had this shirt been originally? Your guess wasn’t going to be ‘slate gray’.

Asgore waved the entire way as he headed back up the mountain, and you waved back until he was out of sight. The scrap of paper with his list of supplies they needed was still in you apron pocket. You’d have to remember to add it to your own list. But at the moment all you could think of was ‘ _why are people so afraid of them’_? You were afraid of many things in this world. The church clergy, plague, men in large armor, heights, thunderstorms, strange mustaches, crowds, mages… but surprisingly monsters weren’t on that list.

  
  
  


 


	4. Bonus: Calm before the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is FILLER... honestly, it's the last fluffy bit before angst shows up for a while. It's not normally as long as my usual chapters, so take this!

The weather was starting to turn. Clouds swallowed the top of the peaks, and the river was running higher than normal. The caravan’s arrival was only a week away, if luck would hold out.

“I can’t even remember what I used to do to relax,” you sighed, looking at the kiln as you swept ash and chunks of charcoal into a pile. You would have to damp the kiln soon. The order of bricks was filled. At this point you were only making bricks for your own uses. Perhaps you’d make an extension on the barn, or push the wall further along to wrap through the woods. Or maybe you’d end up throwing them at some idiot’s head -- always tempting.

“Howdy!” A very loud greeting was shouted over the brick wall of the property. The volume of the yell startled you a little, but you had heard the crinkle of pebbles underfoot as a visitor approached. You didn’t have to look twice to know who it was.

“Why hello there, ‘Just Asgore’. Good to hear you. And the rest of the a mountain agrees with me.” Smiling, you turned and leaned against the broom as you greeted the young monster.

Even as Asgore wrinkled his nose as the awful nickname, a smaller monster bounded up on the brick wall to peer over with him. It was Mays.

“G’moring, bird! Puffball mentioned he was coming down for a hello, I thought I’d pay a visit as well,” the lavender rabbit greeted.

You fumbled the broom, surprised to see the other woman. “Mays, what are you doing on your feet? Get in here and take a seat this instant, I’ll make a pot of tea!”

Crinkling her nose in confusion, but a smile on her face, Mays hopped down from the wall and approached the house. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be on my feet?”

“Well, the… baby?” You couldn’t help it, you looked down at Mays’ belly but it was the same flat stomach that it always was. Unsure if took a long while for monsters ‘to show’ their pregnancy or not, you didn’t want to assume. Absolutely _nothing_ was more embarrassing than asking someone when the baby was due only to have them tell you _they aren’t pregnant._

Yep… you’ve done that before.

Mays gave a short laugh, covering her mouth with a paw. “The baby is safe at home. Nibs is with the egg right now. He’s such a nursemaid, doesn’t want to even let his own mother watch the egg. That child isn’t going anywhere for a full year at least, he’s got time.”

This was entirely news to you, and you fumbled the broom. “Rabbit monsters lay eggs?” Your poor brain wasn’t prepped for this, now you had to have a sit. How did the egg even… NOPE not thinking about THIS anymore! You went flaming red without a single warning.

Entering the yard at his own pace, Asgore found it highly amusing that you had no idea where monster babies came from. The kid wasn’t even trying to tease you about it though. He was too busy giggling with amusement at the shade of red you could reach. There was no need to tease you either-- you had reached maximum embarrassment, it wasn’t possible for you to get any _more_ flustered. You were pretty sure you were locked in a full body blush.

Mays took pity on your suffering, “How about I help you make tea? You look a trifle lost there.” Lost was a bit of an understatement. You were pretty sure you had a look of someone who has had to sit through the ‘ _so you are turning into an adult’_ lecture if given in _graphic and painful detail_. “And if Puffball can keep from interrupting, I can give you the same talk he got just _last year_.”

“It wasn’t last year!” That took the laugh right out of Asgore, and he made a good attempt at blushing through all his white fur.

“R-right! Here, I’ll see you all in.” You shot to your feet, quickly opening the front door for your guests.

The interior of the house was much cleaner than the last time Asgore had been inside. The wood surfaces were all polished, and the stone and tile was swept completely free of ash. Any stray clutter had been put away, and the kitchen was so spotless that eating off of the floor was probably cleaner than the average plate. And the laundry was no longer piling into a small mountain, … though you hadn’t really succeeded on taking the ashen tone out of all your clothes.

“Woa, you were busy! The whole place sparkles!” Asgore ran a hand over the blue tiles that he had been admiring a few days ago. The tile had clearly been polished and waxed, the blue tile was glittering.

“Can’t leave the house a mess when I’m gone. And when I come back, I’ll probably have a new order to fill.” You tried very hard not to look pleased by the child’s compliment, but it had been a truly genuinely kind one. So you turned you customary shade of red. A small, controlled fire was going on the raised fireplace. You swung the half-full kettle of water over it’s hook to boil and drew the chairs out for your guests to sit in.

“So your… baby is ok, right? Nothing is going to happen if you aren’t with the … uh… egg?” you asked, looking worried. You took your own seat at the table, spinning the chair to sit in in backwards. It was a bit rude for a woman to sit like this polite company, but you already wore men's trousers on a daily basis. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Asgore look over the strange position you were sitting in before mimicking it as best as he could. It seemed to work for him, now he was able to sit at the table without his knees knocking on the underside of it.

Mays giggled, waving your concern away. “All the hard work is done at this point. All they needs now is love and magic. And we don’t have to be there all the time to make sure they get that. I could be on the other side of the world, and they would still get my love. It doesn’t matter where you are, your love always is received.”

“Love?” You were intrigued more than embarrassed by this. “It’s really just as easy as knowing you love your kid? That’s all it takes for them to hatch?”

“Yep! Well, and making sure the egg gets a steady supply of magic, but that can come from any source, family or not.” Mays cupped her hands in a shape about the size of one of the empty mugs on the table, showing how large the egg was.

“And all monsters do this? Have eggs, that is.” OH no, the blush was creeping back across your face.

Mays saw an opportunity to tease, and took it. “Well, when two monsters love each other very very much, they--,”

“O-ohkay!” you interrupted, your face, neck, and ears all crimson. You quickly pushed away from the table to check on the water. “Well, glad we had _this_ conversation… tea?”

“Very nice subject change, dear.” The rabbit was far too amused. Even Asgore was grinning.

A canister of tea was brought to the table, but no sugar this time. “Sorry, Asgore, I’m afraid I’m out of sugar. But when I come back with the caravan, I should have a fresh stock for you.” You tossed a handful of leaves into the teapot, then ruffled the kid’s blond hair.

Giving a hum, Asgore nodded happily. Then he looked thoughtful. “If you didn’t know where babies came from… how old are you?”

Both you and Mays sputtered at this, you were unlucky enough to be taking a sip of scalding tea. You promptly started choking after sputtering tea all over the table.

“Ah! A-are you ok?” Asgore asked, his paw knocking over a pile of neatly folded napkins in his haste to grab one. He gave you half of the stack.

“I’m fine, until some little rat decided to make me inhale half of my tea.” You coughed.

“Asgore, that’s a very rude question to ask a lady!” Mays scolded, frowning deeply.

“No, it’s okay.” You cleared your throat twice, finally able to breath again. “It’s actually really hard for me to tell when a monster is ‘old’. You all look… young. Humans… not so much though.”

Telling how old monsters were was something even other monsters had trouble with. Once a monster hit ‘adult’ age, they tended to look the same for years and years up until their magic weakened with age. Once their magic grew weaker, they started looking older and older. You knew that Nibs was almost the same age as you were, and one of the white guard hounds with a floppy left ear was in his sixties but still as spry as a pup. Age was difficult to tell.

“So, how old are you?” Asgore asked, resting his chin on the back of the chair he was sprawled on.

“I’m…,” you paused, for half a second not sure how old you were, “twenty four? Let’s see, married at eighteen, plus five years. No, wait. I’m twenty three.”

Asgore’s eyes widened. “You aren’t much older than me!” He announced, looking amazed.

“Ten years plus, boyo! That’s almost twice your age,” you smiled.

“Ten years isn’t much to a monster!” Asgore protested. The kid was actually _blushing_ at this. Oh my god, that adorable little boy.

Mays was drinking her own tea carefully, fully prepared to stop herself from choking if Asgore said something surprising or hilarious. This… was of course what she had been expecting. So when Asgore attempted, and failed miserably at flirting, Mays managed to keep from spraying tea across the table like you had. She completely failed at laughing out loud though.

Poor Asgore looked like he was about to slide off his chair in embarrassment now.

“Ah, I’m sorry Puffball, wasn’t laughing at you there. But that was a cute thing to say.” Mays pat Asgore’s cheek as she rubbed the tears of laughter away from her eyes.

“But it’s true! You’re ten years older than Nibs. Ten years doesn’t make a difference,” Asgore pouted. “And I’m not cute…” This protest was muffled by his paws as he covered his face in embarrassment.

“Aye, I am. But it’s still rude to ask a lady how old she is. She’s either too young for you, or you’re too young for her. A few years shouldn’t make a difference in if you love them or not.” Mays said, solemnly.

It was a remarkably poignant thing to say. You found it quite endearing monsters had such philosophy. Human philosophy on the matter was a little more evasive. “You can ask a girl her age, but never ask a woman her age,” you added.

Mays nodded silently, agreeing.

Toying with his teacup, Asgore spoke into the mug, his voice muted, “Isn’t eighteen too young to marry?” His eyes were focused intently on anything but you. And the kid was still blushing. Probably thinking that eighteen was only few years away for him.

“For humans, no. We’re done growing at that age. … why, when do monster kids grow up?”

“Oh for some, never.” Mays rolled her eyes. “They’ll be boys forever.”

You chuckled. “Humans have those too, men-children. But when do monsters stop growing?”

The rabbit gave a thoughtful hum. “It… varies. My little babe will be all grown up in only ten years after hatching. Meanwhile, Puffball there has about another ten years to go until he’s all grown.”

Nearly tumbling the teacup in surprise, you gave Asgore a look of awe. “Boyo, you are going to be _colossal_ when you are all grown up.”

The kid smiled, tugging on one floppy ear.

How long had it been since you had the free time to just sit? And chat like this? You loved company when Nibs or Mays would visit, but usually it was between loads of bricks and you were always covered in ash. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had a talk where you didn’t start glazing off in exhaustion half way through.

Not for the first time, you were left wondering if this job was really meant for you. But if you weren’t suited to do this job… there was literally nothing else you could do. You had no other trade skills.

Mays was giving you a rather critical stare.

Lifted an eyebrow in confusion, you ask, “What is it?” Raising one hand to your face reflexively, checking for ash, you wondered if you had something on your nose.

“oh,” Mays blinked, coming back to the conversation. “Just, realizing you’ve… bulked up. Were you always that…,” Pausing, Mays then made the gesture for a strongman.

“Hahaha, that? I suppose not, but bricks are heavy work.” Mays flexing her tiny little arms was hilarious. The rabbit probably only weighed forty pounds. Maximum. When wet.

Now Mays was looking critically at Asgore, one claw on her chin. “Puffball, think you can pick the little bird up?”

Asgore looked up from his tea, then swung his gaze to you as if he was surprised to find a human was sitting next to him. At a standing height, Asgore was a foot or so taller than you, and broad in the chest, but his arms and legs were spindly childlike limbs. “Dunno,” the monster stated.

Dread soaked your bones as a wide a chaotic grin spread over his face. “But I can try!”

“Wait! Nonononono!” You cried out, trying to get one hand out to push the kid away as he swept off his chair and grabbed you under both arms like a tiny doll. One good pull and you were standing.

That had been the easy part. The next part… not so easy.

“Hrrrg! Wait… I can. Get. This.” Asgore puffed through clenched teeth, with you half tossed over one shoulder as he attempted to stand straight up.

“Oh god, kid, this is embarrassing, please stop,” you said in a monotone, both hands cupping your face, aghast.

“You don’t look embarrassed, Forze. You aren’t all red yet.” Mays laughed.

“I meant embarrassing _for him_.” You jabbed a thumb down at Asgore, still giving it his all. You were now entirely off the ground by a few inches. So … technically he had managed to lift you.

Air left the white goat monster in a rush and Asgore quickly dropped you to you feet, panting for breath. “I did it!” He said, sounding proud.

You sighed, patting him on the shoulder, “You sure did.”

“Now can you lift Asgore, Forze?” Mays giggled.

“Can I lift--,” you cut off, looking down at Mays with a resigned expression.

Taking one step closer to Asgore, you then put a hand on his back. The kid looked down, a little nervous. “Hi.” He said, claws nervously tapping.

“Why, hello.” A suddenly wide grin -- equal to Asgore’s own moments earlier -- appeared on your face. Your other hand darted out as you bent, hooking an arm and elbow behind Asgore’s knees. And then quite suddenly you were lifting him, like a delicate bride.

Mays was shrieking with giggles.

Asgore had no idea what was going on anymore.

And you looked like you had just stormed the monster city and kidnapped yourself a trophy, dramatic pose and all.

“You barely weigh anything kid... are you eating enough?” You bounced on the balls of your toes, trying to figure out much more Asgore would have to weigh before it was taxing to lift him.

“I’m perfectly normal for my size!” Asgore insisted, arms crossing over his striped shirt. He was a six foot tall, _pouting_ monster. This kid was so adorable it hurt.

“Then you guys are filled with soft puff and goose down!” You teased, putting the kid back down.

Mays was face down on the table with her head in her arms, hiccuping between giggles. “I thought you were looking more muscle-y than normal. Plus, humans. They just, have strength for days.” The rabbit flexed her spindly arm again in a strongman pose.

You gathered your fallen chair up, sitting in it the ‘proper’ way this time. “I’m sure ‘muscle-y’ isn’t a word there,” you huffed, struggling to keep a goofy grin off your own face. Laughter, however, was contagious.

Offering her second cup of tea, Mays finishes this cup faster, trying to wash the hiccups down. Asgore again pokes at the tea, looking like he wasn’t sure if he enjoyed the taste or not. The kid had liked it well enough when it was saturated with sugar – perhaps he just enjoyed sweet things.

Twilight on the mountain tended to hit fast, the sun tucking behind the mountain in late afternoon. “I should be heading back. Knowing Nibs, all he’ll have done is hold the egg and coo at them.” Mays finished one last drink of tea before she got up to leave. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

“And thank you for the company Mays. I’m glad you visited, your are always welcome.” You smiled back, then winked at Asgore, “As is yours, ‘Just Asgore’. I bet I’ll be able to find something you’ve not got to try before when I go into town. Stop by when I get back.”

“Is it food?” Asgore perked up.

“It’s a secret.”

“Aww, but I can’t eat secrets!” Asgore pled, smiling hopefully.

No matter how cute it was though, you didn’t tell him about the new items you had just add to the supply list. You were positive the kid would love it though.

“Mind the weather! The rainy season is coming.” Mays sniffed the air, her nose quivering. “Or… so I’ve been told. All I smell is the mountain air, and your kiln.”

You couldn’t smell any rain either… but the mountains had been overcast for days. And when it rained in the mountains, rivers were quick to jump their beds.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Rains had started on the mountain, heavy clouds rolling down the peaks and over the valley below. For the past several days, the refugee monsters from the riverlands pushed forward as best as they could through the fowl weather. But every day of rain drained them of increasing amounts of magic. They couldn’t stop, the cutthroat humans behind them dogged them every step of the way. Three times they tried to set up camps in remote locations to give their wounded a chance to heal. Every time, when the guard was at it’s lowest, the humans would seemingly spring from the shadows and assault them again.

Grillby wasn’t sure how many they had lost from each of the ambushes. At first, it was chaos, the guards scrambling to get the civilians up and fleeing while they held off the humans. After the second time, the guards knew what to expect, but the humans became that much more ferocious. The last attack had been timed to strike in the middle of a rainstorm, when Grillby would be of no help.

And the humans had all targeted him.

With each assault the pursuing humans learned how to combat them all. It appeared that these attackers were not allied with the much larger human army that had attacked their city. These humans were jackals and scavengers, a small rogue force that followed in the army’s wake with the intent of killing any monster they could. And they were doing it simply because they _could_ , not because of any orders. Humans feared monsters because they knew their souls could be absorbed by one. What most humans didn’t know was killing a monster would grant exp and lvl… which could make them stronger as they absorbed strength from the fallen monsters. The pursuing humans were opportunistic dogs, looking for a quick way to get stronger by attacking the weak. And the refugees were extremely weak.

The guard struggled to keep the group moving with so many injured and scared. At first, Grillby had been able to keep up with the front guard, the weather only raining for short periods before clearing up. However the rains started increasing as they grew closer to the mountain. No longer was Grillby able to keep up with the forward guard, now he trundled along with the civilians in the middle of the group. The last attack had weakened had hurt him far more than those cutthroats probably knew.

“How’s the arm?” Gerson walked next to Grillby, holding a magic shield above the elemental’s head as rain pattered off of it.

Grillby couldn’t answer. He barely spoke in the past few days, his throat raw and painful. Every time he opened his mouth, it tasted like ash. Shifting the heavy cloak aside, he pushed his left arm out. There were no flames, the embers under the fire were dull and smokey. Dust drifted between the cracks in the embers.

“That… boy, that looks awful,” Gerson grit out, wincing in sympathy. “Was it the weather, or that last attack?”

Shrugging, Grillby honestly couldn’t say. Both? Neither? The rage that had at first given him the strength to keep fighting had burned out. Rage was not a sustainable replacement for magic, and all the refugees were extremely low on magic. They hadn’t been given a proper chance to rest with the following humans on their heels. How much strength did humans have to be able to _walk_ them into exhaustion?

“The road ahead is starting to get soggy. It’s been nothing but rain on Ebott. … ya sure ya don’t want ta ride with the refugees?” Gerson jerked a thumb at the wagon they had managed to pull free from a muddy rut in the road where it had been abandoned. It was packed with injured monsters, both guards who had taken injuries in the fight and civilians too exhausted to keep going.

Shaking his head, Grillby clutched at the side satchel at his shoulder where the egg was tucked away.

Gerson sighed, glaring up at the stubborn elemental. “Weather ‘s about ta get rough again, boy. We’re still a day away from ta top o’ Ebott, it’ll catch us before then. Ya get soaked once more, and yer going ta dust.”

Grillby’s arm was the worst of his injuries, but he was absolutely covered in wounds. His flames were so low he couldn’t manage a fireball if they were attacked. While rain alone wasn’t immediately lethal, it was extremely painful and caused slow damage. The cloak wasn’t as waterproof as he would have hoped either. After several days of traveling in this weather his magic was draining far faster than he could replenished it. Moving onwards and finding help at Ebott was his only chance.

Setting his jaw firmly, Grillby shook his head, making sure to keep a steady pace next to Gerson. He was not about to have the refugees stop again, not when there were pursuers so close, not when Ebott was almost within reach. They could make it, if they didn’t stop for the weak.

And right now, Grillby was the weakest of them all.

The captain sighed. He couldn’t make anyone rest if they didn’t want to… and they certainly would have another attack if they set up a camp. The hounds at their flanks reported the human cutthroats were in sight at almost all times, there were at least a dozen humans left. Even though the monsters outnumbered the humans four-to-one, most were civilians and all were exhausted – a fight would favor the humans. They couldn't stop, or there would be another attack. All they could do was press on.

“Aw’ight, boy. Have it your way. Just… keep up. This storm is blowin’ in fast.” Gerson resigned to watching the young guard struggle along, too stubborn to stop. Leaving the magic shield hovering over Grillby to protect from rain, Gerson moved faster to meet up with the forward guard. It was testament to how awful Grillby felt at the moment that a tortoise was outrunning him.

Night fell far too soon, continuing to rain in the darkness. One of the rear guards dashed through the column, heading towards the forward guards.

Fearing an attack was rushing at them, Grillby stopped and whirled, clutching at the hilt of the crumpled pig-iron sword. He didn’t have the magic to make it flame at the moment, and the shape it had solidified in was more like a club than a sword. He couldn’t see the human attackers in the darkness, but he could see tiny dots of light far away, further away than they had been following for the entire day. Were they not attacking? And why were they revealing their position with lights like that?

Gerson shouted for the group to move at double-pace, then cut through the column to the rear with the rest of the forward guard in tow. Double pace was more than most of the monsters could handle for long. This was clearly trying to get space between the refugees and the rear before an attack came. Grillby wanted to stay at the rear and help. But he had nothing to help with, just a brittle iron sword and no magic. Sucking in a breath of cold mountain air and shivering, his flames going smokey, he pushed all his effort into moving just a little faster. Humans were unreal.

Finding himself now leading the refugees as the rest of the guards went to barricade the road with fallen trees, Grillby lead the way up the road. The rain was mostly deflecting off of the shield of magic Gerson had left him with, but there was a constant mist in the air that caused his embers to fizzle. Water was rushing down the path like a river, the falling rain flooding every depression in the ground. His boots were sodden, his feet were in agony, but there was nothing to be done for it. If he needed lead the civilians out of the path of a battle, he would.

There was the sound of an attack, the class of steel on stone, and the roar of a battlecry. The mountains bounced sound around strangely… but it sounded like it came from ahead of them instead of behind? Peering into the dark rain, Grillby could see something flickering ahead, a light in the darkness. In the gloom he couldn’t tell if it was the monster settlement or if it was another ambush.

A towering column of fire suddenly erupted from ahead, evaporating the gloom and rain. The flames twisted as if alive, and then lashed against the ground. A few seconds later, the heavy whoosh of air from the magical explosion reached them. Whatever was ahead was fighting something. It was fighting with _fire_ in the rain, and it didn’t seem to care.

The shield Gerson had put over Grillby to block the rain suddenly gave out and water began to douse the elemental. Hissing in pain, he grabbed a handful of the cloak and drew it over his head, trying to keep the water off as best as he could. Either Gerson was now too far away to keep the shield going… or something had happened to the tortoise monster. As much as Grillby wanted to fight, he was far too weak now to even make the trip back down the road. Putting everything he had into just keeping one foot in front of the other and upright, he staggered down the road towards the magical blaze ahead. And he hoped for help.

 

* * *

 

“You are going to sit your furry butt right here and wait for the guard! I will not have you going up the mountain in the rain and dark,” you said, forcefully. Both hands on your hips as you looked down at the kid.

Asgore sat at the kitchen table, his knees awkwardly knocking on the underside as he tried to make himself smaller. He seemed a bit surprised that you could be so… loud. The day had started off with a surprised visit, Nibs made a daily trip down the mountain to greet his human friend, but this time Asgore begged to come with. You were quite happy to see the young monster and promptly fussed over him and insisting he come inside to dry off. With a fresh kettle of tea, you had talked for a bit, glad for the distraction. Then Asgore had asked to read some of the books that lined a shelf in the bedroom. Books weren’t exactly common to have, with most of them being almanacs, guides for mansonry, or reading primers. Why you had so many reading primers… you didn’t care to discuss it.

Once you realized that Asgore couldn’t properly read human script, you make it your goal for the day to teach him. The young monster had a basic grasp of human writing, but he was by no means fluent in it. Sitting down and learning how letters strung into sounds and could be read, you were slow and patient with his progress. As Asgore struggled to sound out the words you gave him small tips that made the process easier. Nibs was enthralled by how easily a human managed to teach the young monster, which of course made you blush and claim is was because your student was abnormally clever (which of course made Asgore go just as red). After a few hours, Asgore could have struggled through a children’s primer without any help from you at all. Time seemed to go by so fast, you were startled to find that night had descended on the mountain.

“Do you think Nibs made it back up the mountain to tell the guard?” Asgore had his head tipped, listening as the rain pattered against the window.

“He was probably back up there in only a few minutes, weather doesn’t seem to slow him down any. But the question is if the guard can actually make it down in this storm to escort you back up or not.” You were cleaning the teacups, putting them carefully away.

“What if they can’t make it down?” Asgore suddenly sounded anxious, his blond hair falling into his face as he turned to look at you.

Giving a soft laugh, you shrugged, “Then you’ll be spending the night, it seems. Nibs won’t tell the guard to make the trip if the roads are dangerous,” you paused, “though… is your father going to be alright with you down here? I’m not going to have a towering white wall of angry father goat at my door thinking I’ve _kid_ -napped you, am I?” You have never met King Magore. Honestly, you were more than a little intimidated by the idea as well. Asgore was a six foot tall cream puff, but King Magore was the towering leader of monster kind, a warrior, and a tactical strategist who even dwarfed even the tallest of monsters.

“Ha, no, dad knows I… wait… was that a pun?” Asgore narrowed one eye, squinting in suspicion.

“You _goat_ me there. Don’t be _sheep_ ish, you’re grinning. You like my baaaad puns,” you laughed.

“Oh noooo, why?” Asgore cried, dropping his head to the table with a heavy bonk of horns on wood.

Looking out the window, the smile on your face softened and with a resigned sigh you realized it was probably too late to expect the guard to show up to escort Puffball back up the mountain. “Well, not to sound _gruff,_ but it’s _pasture_ bedtime. I’ll to turn up the bed for you.”

“Nooooo! Stop!” The kid giggled, face still planted firmly in the table. Then his head jerked up. “I get to spend the night?”

“Sure _ewe!”_ you snickered as you dropped the pun. His reactions were always better than the pun itself.

Asgore gave you a dull look. “... I’m walking home.”

“Hahah, no no, I’m sorry, really. I’m done. No more.” Holding both your hands up in surrender, your wide grin completely ruined the penitent expression “Here, you’ll be taking my room. It’s the only bed large enough to hold you.” The extra room with the crib was best left forgotten.

Pulling fresh covers on the bed, and tossing the old sheets into a laundry pile for the next day, you pushed the monster towards the bathroom to go get cleaned up. Even if you were wrong and the guards did show up this evening to escort Asgore back up the mountain, it would be best if he did it with at least some sleep to perk him up. You might even be able to convince the guards to bunk in the barn until dawn rather than go up the mountain at night and in the rain.

“Come on, Just Asgore, bedtime.” You patted a hand on the fresh linens, beckoning him over.

Asgore made a flying leap for the bed, cushions and blankets flying in all directions as the down-stuffed mattress was violently slammed into a new shape… specifically a goat monster shape. Wiggling down into the bed, Asgore arranged pillows as best he could to not get caught on his budding horns.

“Do you want a bedtime story?” The words left your lips before you even realized you were offering.

And with full 10-year-old indignity, he retorted, “I’m too old for a bedtime story! I haven’t had a bedtime story since mom … fell.” The kid went from a bright expression of mock-offense at being offered a story to one of empty apathy as fast as a flicker.

His morose look caused something painful to clench in your chest. You shouldn’t ask, you shouldn’t pry… but you felt the need to know like burning coals. “What was she like… the queen?”

The bright glow in Asgore’s eyes returned, but only half his normal sparkle. “Mom was beautiful. She had long glossy fur. And she had lavender eyes. She told me a different bedtime story every night. Um. I guess I don’t remember too much about her though. Dad doesn’t talk about her too much either. Just she was a good mom, and always would play with me and read me stories.”

Asgore’s paws were bunched up on the bed covers, claws buried in the fabric. After a pause, he managed to release the bed spread, but did not raise his gaze, “She fell when I was only a few years old.” Asgore didn’t say how she fell. You didn’t ask how. It was a memory the kid didn’t need to relive right now. “Dad says I have her spirit.”

Reaching out to tuck the blankets around Asgore, you nodded solemnly. “Hmm, I see. So your mother was kind, and strong, and curious, and brave too?”

Asgore went pink. He gave a bleat of surprise, covering his face with both paws. Under his hands, you could see his grin though. His eyes would meet yours, then quickly dart away in embarrassment.

“Ha, see, I’m not the only one who turns all red. Oh, how the table turns!” You gave a mock-evil laugh, which sounded more like a diabolical giggle. Taking the chair beside the bed, you dragged it closer so you could sit next to Asgore. “So… no bedtime story then? Just as well. Human fairy tales are kinda cautionary tales on what not to do… by terrifying children into behaving. Huh. I have no idea who had the idea to try of terrifying human children with threats of death until they behaved.” Hindsight, maybe _that_ was why humans were so messed up.

“Um… would you sit with me for a bit? I don’t need a story or anything, but… it’s a strange house?” Asgore asked timidly, one hand grasping the bed spread with his other inched across the bed until it bumped into your own hand.

“I believe I can do that, Puffball,” you smiled softly, taking a seat next to the bed and squeezing his paw back. Snuggling down in the pile of pillows and blankets, Asgore was much more exhausted than let let on. Almost immediately his face went slack as he tumbled into dreams, breathing soft puffs of air slowly. Gently, you pulled his hand under the covers so he was tucked in. Brushing his blond hair out of his face, you tucked him in before leaving the room.

With your bedroom now occupied, you paced the kitchen wondering if you should make yourself a bed in the barn, or on the sofa in the entry hall. The house promised to be warm but the sofa was far too small to fit you properly, while the barn had a good deal of soft hay but was chilly and damp with the weather.

“I’ll just stoke the kiln first, the barn should be good enough though,” you said to yourself, pulling the heavy wool cloak from the peg. Tugging the hood over your head, you stepped into the night and was assaulted by a deluge of icy water pelting down. “Okay, hindsight… this might not be a good idea. But I’m committed to my bad ideas.” And speaking of the kiln, you were horrified to see the fire starting to gutter low and hissing as it’s embers were doused. Dashing through the yard, you came to a halt in front of the oven and leaned up to catch the iron ring and pull the flue closed. Water was no longer pouring down onto the dying coals, but the kiln was no longer as hot as it needed to be to bake the bricks. It was more like a kitchen cookfire than the burning inferno it needed to be.

“Hellfire…,” you swore, gaze darting back to the house. “Well… I suppose he’s asleep enough.” You took a slow breath, holding it for a few moments before releasing it in a cloud of steam and sucking in at the cold air again.

Magic started to boil in your chest, the kiln suddenly burst to life with wild flames and spitting coals. Directing the magic to focus on boosting the heat, you concentrated on your task. It took only a few seconds to build the kiln back up to the temperature it needed to be, and a minute of focus to ensure it would burn through the whole night, no matter how much water doused the coals.

“Shhhh, you great lug. What are you fussing about, some water? Sh sh sh, you are too loud,” you whispered to the kiln, magic soothing over the embers and bringing the temperature up while calming the spitting flames. In a few moments, the fire was back to the constant, steady roar it always was. “There, that’s better. Shhh shhh, go to sleep.”

Finishing the spell and wincing, you lowered your hand and a dull groan escaped as a wave of dizziness caused you to sway. Magic was burning your palms while cold seeped into your bones. Using magic was awful, it made you feel vulnerable and the aftermath left you chilled and exhausted. Years of hiding from humans and sages alike, you had learned to keep your magic well disguised as ‘average, everyday incidents of clumsiness’. It took remarkably little magic to keep the kiln going most days. A small amount of magic could make the kiln run on a single load of wood or cause the flames to burn with twice the intensity. It was a handy trick to have... It was a dangerous trick to use. Humans did not like watching magic. Even the Sages under service to the king didn’t use their magic in public without a _Very Good Reason_.

A sharp snap came from the other side of the half wall that ran the length of the farm along the road. You went rigid, a breath half exhaled froze in your lungs. There were never travelers on this lone stretch of road, and the monster guards from Home couldn't make it here this fast. A soft scrape followed immediately, and then silence. A suspicious silence. Fear lanced through your chest, and your magic guttered out. The kiln continued to burn regardless of your help, the fires had been stoked high. In the ensuing silence, you could hear things that weren’t the sound of the forge. Small furtive noises. Your instincts were clawing at you to run or to get inside the bar the door. You backed away from the wall quietly, cloak pulled tight under the pouring rain.

“Oi, you the bird that lives here?” Someone stepped into the light of the kiln, not from the road, but having come from the river. “We’re gonna… need some space here. How about we go inside?” He approached with a smirk. The man wore tattered leather armor, soaked and sodden, but the blade he carried was honed to a razors edge and glittering with the light of the kiln.

“L-leave! I don’t l-like strangers!” Your voice caught in your throat, halfway between a squeak and a whisper. You staggered backwards, shoulder hitting the brick kiln and quickly sliding around it to put space between the intruder.

The kiln began to rumble, the fire suddenly stoked so high it billowed out of the open doors. Your heart skipped a beat. Horror clutching at you as you realized you were venting magic. It was a defensive reflex to prevent excess magic from hurting a mage, it primed every spell in the area to go off. You only had one spell set in your home, the one on the kiln. Your fingers closed on a piece of brittle brick, the edges cutting your palms as you squeezed it.

“No need to be rude, we’re all polite folk here. We’re just waiting. For some guests ta come up the road, is all.” The stranger had an oily smile, and wasn’t the least bit remorseful about intruding. Your fear only caused that wide smirk to broaden. “But you should go inside now. Come on, I’ll make sure you stay--,” The bandit headed for the house.

Asgore was inside.

No… he wasn’t. Not anymore.

A child’s voice called your name. The door was open, Asgore was peering into the night, one floppy ear and nubby horn visible for all to see. The kid froze when he saw the human. The human froze when he saw the monster. And you stood there like you were carved from stone.

“God’s name… Monster! There are monsters in the house!” The bandit sounded the alarm, raising his blade and advancing towards the house.

A brick caught the man in the temple, and he went down like a ragdoll, not even a sigh escaping him. You clutched at the small pile of ruined bricks that were piled at the foot of the kiln, grabbing another weapon to throw at the person who lurked on the other side of the wall.

There was an immediate clatter from beyond the wall. Many feet, several voices, steel on stone. One man threw himself to the top of the wall, landing clumsily in in the workyard with a splash. He too, was armed, and ready for a fight.

“Asgore, get inside!” You backed up a few steps, moving away from the intruder. Asgore remained frozen in place, a high pitched bleat of panic escaping his throat as his claws clutched at the door frame.

The first bandit in the yard quickly brandished a blade, first at Asgore, but jerked it quickly to deflect the chunk of brick you threw at him. A second brick caught the exposed fingers of his sword hand, crushing bone to steel and causing him to yelp in pain and drop the blade.

Footsteps were charging the gate. Your panic crested and spilled over. One human you might be able to stop from getting Asgore, but not more than that. You couldn’t protect him. The icy clutch of fear at your chest suddenly turned into white hot embers, burning you from the inside. You vented magic again and triggered the spell in the kiln in your fear. The kiln _exploded_ , bricks sheering off the top as a column of fire erupted. Half baked, flaming clay shot out of the oven like fired by a cannon. The cutthroat was pelted with shrapnel and burning clay, his wet armor might have protected him from fire, but not from heavy bricks and shards of stone.

There was a howl of fury from the other side of the wall, and several humans wielding swords smashed through the gate, breaking the door off the hinges. Instinct took over, a voice of panicked reason insisted if any of them made it back to the city there would be a witch hunt. Magic sizzled as you directed fire from the kiln, bending and releasing it towards the intruders. A roaring column of ash and embers engulfed them all, writhing like a dying serpent as it struck. There were screams of pain and ghastly death gurgles from the men.

You had killed them. You were _still_ killing them, fire arcing through the night from target to target. Bitter, acidic tears of rage spilled down your cheeks, warming your skin from the biting cold rain.

“I--,” you choked, ash and bile in your throat, “I am not a weapon! I am _not_ a weapon!” You chanted under your ragged breathing, a mantra interrupted by panicked sobs. The fire curled around you like a cloak, chasing the cold of the rain away.

Someone was running at you, footsteps on slick stone causing you to look up in alarm. One man, his hair smoldering with embers, and a snarl of fury on his lips lifted his sword to strike.

The cloak of fire wrapped around you detonated, a nova that flared and burned everything around you. You flinched at the explosion, both hands up to protect your eyes at the brilliant flare. The human staggered backwards aflame. Swinging your fist, knuckles caught the attacker in the neck, a sickening _pop_ as the human slumped to the ground making a wet gurgling sound. You recoiled in revulsion, you had just been trying to hit him to knock him off balance. The cloak of fire started to to peel away, leaving you exposed to the biting cold rain. Fatigue was numbing your limbs, your breathing ragged and hiccups stabbed into your attempts to control yourself.

Asgore was standing in the doorway, eyes wide in fear now. He was too stunned to even move into cover. You didn't have the ability to protect with your magic, only to destroy, you couldn't help him.

The mantra was changing. ‘ _I can’t protect … so… I’ll have to be a weapon. For him.’_

“Asgore!” This time your voice reached him and the child jerked in alarm as he came to his senses. He looked you in the eyes now, “Go inside, bar the door!” At this, the kid finally moved jerkily inside, slamming the door and there was the heavy clank as he drew the bar into the lock. You tried to look confident, to project at least the illusion you could protect the kid. If you wanted to protect Asgore, you needed to kill, cripple, or maim all these men.

Just like old days.

The few brigands who were trying to stand up again never made it to their feet under the roaring heat of a fireball. The two men who had been attempting to double around the barn to attack from your blind side found that fire didn't have a flank to attack. One of the monster-killers tried to flee, but flames cut him down in his tracks. More came as a group, but even the rain didn't douse the inferno that met them. They came looking for monsters.

Well, they found one. The worst monster of them all. A human.

You couldn’t stop the tears that poured silently down your cheeks and you couldn’t shut off the magic that kept burning. It would continue until you were empty, and then darkness would take you. There was ice in your veins, magic almost tapped out now and your head was pounding. Even as black clouds started creeping in at the corners of your vision, you were alert enough to hear someone stagger into the yard. You couldn’t breathe properly, but you could see the fear in the Asgore’s eyes as he peered through a window. There was a irregular hammering in your chest that was painful, an ache that felt like you had been kicked by a horse.

‘ _If I have just one spell left in me, let me use it now,’_ your thoughts were starting to fade, your mind was growing sluggish. Even as you fought against unconsciousness, a fireball sparked and rolled into a orb only as large as a fist. It was big enough though.

You could hear the roar and whoosh of the fireball as you released the spell. The ground was sideways… why was the ground sideways? Oh wait, you were falling. Blackness soaked your vision and you felt your shoulder slam into the wet ground, a sharp sting bit against your head as your skull bounced off the ground. That was it, completely tapped out of magic. You thought you heard Asgore, but you couldn’t make out any words. Your last muddled thoughts were you hoped the kid would be safe in the barricaded house. You hoped you had gotten all of the humans… and the fact you hoped you had just murdered a dozen men didn’t sicken you like you thought it should have. Darkness wiped away the regret.

  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shit has finally hit the fan. Finally, there was so much prestory just to get this far. WHEW.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerson to the rescue! Well, sort of. Why can't a tortoise catch a break and have something go right for a change?

Gerson had seen some shit in his day. He’d seen raids by humans against other humans, against monsters, and bandit attacks on anything they could get their hands on -- a daily occurrence. This was… something else entirely. It was as if a fire elemental had gone berserk, possessing the large brick oven that centered the work yard, but Grillby was nowhere in sight. There were dead or dying humans about the yard -- part of the group of murderers that had tried to rush them on the mountain road.

It didn’t take more the a moment for Gerson to realize what had happened. The attack at the rear flank and been a feign attack to draw their attention. There were only a few men with torches trying to rush them forward, making it appear as if the full force was there. With the entire guard protecting the rear, they had been surprised by how few the attackers were in number when there should have been a dozen men pressing at them. The cutthroats had somehow managed to get ahead of them on the road and intended to attack from the unprotected front, slaughtering the civilians as they walked right into an ambush.

Instead, something had taken care of the entire monster-slaying unit before the civilians had even arrived. Even as the rear guard caught up to the civilians and the strange destruction, monsters from the top of the mountain marched down to meet them accompanied by a swift rabbit monster.

“What have you done here?!” Nibs gasped, recoiling from a dying human who was gurgling on the ground.

“Us? We didn’t do this, we just walked in ta this slaughter.” Gerson insisted, gesturing for the wagon to be pulled into the workyard. Best not to leave the weak milling about in case a second attack came.

An argument was quick to start up. Where was the prince? Who did this? How badly wounded was Gerson’s group? How soon could help arrive from Ebott? Who were these humans? The argument would have continued all night long if the rabbit hadn’t seized the conversation again.

“Ok, first of all, who are you?”

“Gerson, captain o’ the guard, from Riverside,” He replied, teeth gritting. “And you?”

“Nibs, scout of Home.” The rabbit nodded. “And wounded, how many? Can they hold out long enough to be brought up the mountain?”

Gerson sucked through his teeth, wincing, “At this point, I doubt it. Most of us are wounded, a few are starting to fall already.”

Nibs looked at the refugees, alarmed. “This isn’t exactly a defensible point. Monster friendly, yeah but… where is bird?” Ears lifted in alarm as the rabbit realized someone was missing.

It was then that the crown prince came charging out of the house, howling in near tears about Grillby and you. Immediately the argument died on Nib’s lips, and the rabbit looked up at the mountain. Gerson felt the situation start to slip. They had been in trouble on the way up the mountain… he didn’t even know how deep in shit-creek they were anymore.

“Ok, fine, we’ll do it your way, Gerson. Asgore, find all the worst wounded, get them inside. All the others can go in the barn for now. I’ll head up the mountain, see if I can’t bring a healer down.” The rabbit paused, his voice dropping to a whisper that couldn’t carry to Asgore, “But if you don’t treat my friend like the delicate lady she is, I’ll shove my entire foot up your ass.”

The threat was… interesting. Especially coming from a rabbit monster that probably was more leg that muscle. Gerson nodded, and Nibs took off in a flash to get a healer. He could only hope the healer was as fast as the rabbit was. The refugees were in bad shape.

The young prince was looking down at Gerson with anxiety in his eyes. There was no doubt who this boy was. The kid looked exactly like his father in miniature. Gerson reached up and pat the kid on the chest, giving him a slight smile as he kept his voice even, calm, and kind. “It’ll be fine, boy. Just get the wounded inside. I’ll go take a look at Grillby, see if we can’t perk him up.”

Ears bobbled frantically as the kid agreed, then shot off to find the refugees.

Gerson went to the house as quickly as stiff legs would allow him. Pushing open the door to the house, Grillby was sitting on the floor of the entry hall, slumped half against the sofa where someone in a dripping cloak was sprawled. Wheezing in pain, one hand clutching at the bag and the other grasping at his wet clothing in pain.

“Hellfire, boy, are yeh still with me here?” Gerson quickly strode into the house, leaving mud and puddles of ash-water behind him in his haste. “Off with this tunic, at least yeh had the common sense to take off that soggy blanket too.” Hooking his hands in the wet tunic, he hauled it over Grillby’s head. Then he recoiled at the damage that was revealed.

A muffled groan and a slight flash of fire rolled over Grillby as he tried to respond. The damage was… severe. Gerson knew the elemental had been taking a beating over the past few days of travel in the rain, but not like this. He was literally down to embers and coals, the only fire still burning on him was his core. A lucky stroke that was, if his core went out, Grillby was dust.

“Here, gimme yer arm, lad. Let’s get yeh charged up.” Gerson didn’t have much magic of his own left, just a few sparks left. But anything would help. It had to help. Gerson couldn’t lose another guard like this.

The magic wasn’t taking root though. Grillby seem to be shunting the magic somewhere else with every attempt. “Boy, what the hellfire are yeh doing, take it!”

Grillby’s eye opened, still flickering with fire. He looked down at the bag he had carried from their escape, his hand twitching towards it.

Taking the small gesture as a sign to examine the bag, Gerson pulled the satchel over into his lap and flipped the bag open. A hiss of alarm and half a swear escaped his clenched jaws. There was an egg nestled in the bag, and one long crack spanned the entire shell.

“Lad… the kid is…,” Gerson led off, suddenly understanding why Grillby wasn’t taking the magic offered. He was trying to save the child. He was trying to keep the only thing remaining of his family alive. “Shit… fine, I’ll do what I can. Just sit tight. Healers on their way.” Gerson growled. Pulling the egg into his lap, he began to feed the small soul his magic. The tiny white soul inside didn’t move at all, even as absorbed all the mana offered. It was so weak from lack of magic, the soul was starving to death before it was even born.

Several times, Asgore ran into the house, cradling a monster in his massive arms as he found places to put them. The kid worked hard, trying to get the injured warm and dry as fast as possible. Still, the guard captain was focused on his task, trying to get the soul in the egg enough magic to keep going.

“Here, best I can do. Maybe the healer can seal the crack.” Gerson felt dizzy. He had used far more magic than he should have, digging into his own reserves he needed to keep himself going. At least with the guards from Ebott protecting the area, he didn’t have to worry about his own battered troops trying to set up patrol.

Grillby reached out, pulling the egg against his chest and cradling it with a dull expression. It was the thousand mile stare of a man who had seen far too much, and no longer knew how to react to it. He stroked the egg gently, his fingers shivering. There was nothing more he could do for Grillby at the moment, he had no magic left other than his own life. All he could do was keep him dry and comfortable and hope the healer was fast.

Sitting on the ground in front of the couch, Gerson shook your shoulder. “How about yeh, uh... Nibs never mentioned yer name. Bird, is it? Are yeh awake?”

One pale white flesh hand fell out of the folds of the cloak, limp and chilled. Gerson jerked back in alarm, raising an arm reflexively.

“That’s a human,” Gerson spat.

Your hair was a damp mess against your forehead, tangled over your eyelids. You were shivering under the wet cloak, soft human skin doing nothing to keep the heat in.

“... mage…,” Grillby’s voice was a whisper, coals being raked over a dying fire. His hand slid off the egg, touching his weakened core, “she...fireball to core, kept me going.”

“What -- she... ,” Gerson’s mind clicked. The kiln exploding, the humans killed with magic long before Grillby had arrived, the panic Asgore had shown: everything made sense now. Mages weren’t even liked by their own people. This one had clearly gone as far off the beaten path possible, and settled near monsters to avoid other humans. During the assault of the cutthroats, you had somehow hit Grillby directly with a fire attack, bolstering his dying flames with fresh magic. “Ah, I see. Well, let’s take a look atcha.”

Pulling the wet cloak off and throwing it along with Grillby’s soaked cloak, Gerson rolled you onto your back. Your skin was chilled to the touch, far colder than it should have been due to weather alone. “She’s outta magic too. Hell, nothing wants to go right today, does it?” A silver flask was half tucked into the heavy leather apron pocket. Curious, Gerson tugged it free and uncapped the canteen. The smell of bitter spirits assaulted his nose, this was some potent booze.

An idea struck Gerson. Fire elementals reacted strongly to liquor. It caused their flames to flare into wild conflagrations. If you were a mage, you probably carried the flask for much the same reason. Working one hand under your chin and catching a hold of your hair, the tortoise pulled gently until your head tipped back. Holding the flask to your lips, he managed to tip a small amount in without causing you to choke.

You choked anyway, sputtering and coughing as the spirits hit you. Suddenly awake and wheezing, you swallowed the mouthful of liquor and nearly gagged. A spark of magic rolled off you, running down your bare arm before reaching your fingertips and vanishing.

“Not very good at magic, are yeh?” Gerson pulled the flask away, offering it to Grillby. The liquor could keep the fire monster going until help arrived, he hoped.

The struggle ceased immediately, fear and hysteria reflected in the glassy stare of the your eyes.

“Don’t give me that look, missy. Just statin’ the obvious. Yeh made a royal mess o’ yer yard… but yeh kept the prince safe. And on purpose or not, but yeh kept _this_ hothead from going out.” Jerking a thumb towards Grillby, your gaze slowly slide to the other end of the sofa where Grillby was draining the remaining contents of the flask.

You took a shuddering breath, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. “Don’t tell… please.”

“Who am I going ta tell? Witch hunters? I’m sure they’d be glad ta hunt monsters as well as mages.” Gerson leaned back, putting both hands on the stone floor.

Attempting to get up, your arm wobbled and your elbow unlocked, slamming back down into the sofa. You gave a half-hearted groan as you got one arm under your chest, managing to turn over onto your side before your eyes started to roll back. While the sip of liquor had managed to spark your magic and jerk you back to consciousness, it clearly wasn’t enough to get you back on your feet. Based on how weak you were, you had tapped all your mana out, which would be lethal if you were a monster. Luck would have it that humans were hearty enough to survive tapping out of mana, their ‘stuff’ keeping them going even if they had no magic. Clearly you were struggling to keep conscious though. As was Grillby, for that matter. The elemental gave a grunt of pain as the liquor forced his fires to start up again, blue flames instead of orange rippled down his arms briefly before snuffing back into coals. He burned a tiny bit brighter for the effort though.

“Yeh don’t have any more o’ that drink, do ya?” Gerson shook the flask in front of you, the empty container rattling with the lid.

“Cellar.” Your gaze drifted to the kitchen.

“Stay put,” Gerson pat you on the shoulder, his heavy paw almost knocking you flat down under wobbling arms. “Yeh too, Grill. Yer stayin’ right here til I find some more o’ tha drink.”

In the corner of the kitchen, there was a ring set in the wooden floor boards. Gerson gave the hatch one strong pull and a small doorway was revealed, one that was almost too small for him to squeeze down. Maneuvering down the ladder into the cellar, Gerson realized the house was not built for monsters at all. His shell scraped the wood flooring as he descended, and his knees didn’t move quite like a human’s did, making each rung of the ladder difficult. Once he had reached the bottom, his feet touched a floor made of stone and dirt. The house had been built on top of a small cave system.

“Didn’t realize the mountain was on top of caves.” Gerson muttered, impressed at the small storage space. There wasn’t much left in the cellar, a few bags and boxes half full of perishable goods, and a shelf with a few canned items lined the wall. It hardly seemed a full pantry, perhaps enough for a single human for a few days, but not for much more than that. There were three bottles near the shelf, all sealed with cork and wax and filled with a colorless liquid. Dusting his thumb over the bottles, he was rewarded with scribbles on the paper label that indicated it was ‘Vegetable Bitters’. Well, the drink was certainly vodka, it had the ‘bitter’ correct. And if you were keeping it as a pick-me-up for emergency purposes it hardly mattered what the label said or it tasted like.

Dragging himself out of the cellar, Gerson struggled with the ladder before he pulled himself into the kitchen. As he returned to the the entry hall, he noticed you had lost the battle with sleep again, half slumped off the couch. Grillby at least was alert, though his core was starting to flicker. “Found something. Here, boy, this one is yours.” Jamming a claw through the wax seal and into the cork, he twisted his finger until the cork popped free. Offering the bottle to Grillby, he was pleased to see the elemental was at least still alert. Both arms were wrapped protectively around the bag with the egg, and he only glared at the offered bottle.

“It’s probably going to be awful, but it’ll do the trick.” Gerson shook the liquor, the bitter smell wafting from the bottle.

Grillby shook his head.

“Boy, don’t be stubborn! Yer down ta embers, and there are plenty of wounded here that’ll need healin’ … not sure the whimsun is going to pull through long enough for help to arrive. If drinking this can save time for the healers ta help others first, then I’ll hold yeh down myself and _force_ yeh ta drink it.”

One eye slid open, flames curling back over his face where the raw embers smoldered. Nodding slowly, Grillby held out one hand for the bottle.

Gerson held one paw out towards the egg. “But first… give me the kid. This is probably going to get yeh three sheets ta the wind. Not that I don’t think yeh can’t handle yer liquor… but not need to jostle the kid around like this.”

Jerking away from the bottle and grasping the bag, Grillby gave a reflexive hiss, flames crackling for a moment before returning to hot coals.

“Boy, this isn’t the first baby I’ve been around. I can handle an egg or two.” Gerson gave a wan smile. “Best yeh not let her see yeh drunk. Her uncle is a right proper elemental, no need ta change the lil spark’s opinion before she’s even hatched.” A little bit of kind flattery was usually enough to break through the haze of shock when the guards started to falter.

Fingers twisted around the leather strap of the bag, Grillby looked down at his niece tucked carefully in the bag. Reluctantly, he held the satchel towards Gerson with both hands.

“Good lad. Drink this up. I’ll keep the lil’ spark safe til yer sober. I'll see if I can't find 'er some more magic too.” Shoving the bottle into Grillby’s hands, Gerson quickly strung the bag over his shoulder. “And yer going ta be drinking _all_ of it. There are two more bottles, those are next.” Levering himself to his feet, Gerson knew he had to make rounds to make sure his guard and the monsters from Ebott could set up a perimeter to defend the farm until more help arrived. He made for the door, one hand carefully cupping the bag.

A whoosh of flame caught Gerson’s attention. Turning around, he saw the elemental was drinking the bottle as if it was water. “Hellfire, boy. Maybe… pace yerself?”

A rude gesture from Grillby.

Gerson gave a lopsided grin, at least Grillby’s spirit was still there. “Fine. Don’t pace yerself. Might spare yeh the taste this way.”

Blue flames wreathed the elemental as he continued to drink the bottle, draining the whole thing in only a minute. Gerson was impressed. And more than a bit horrified. Grillby coughed, a gout of fire and sparks flaring around him. The raw embers cracked and fresh fire wicked around him. He could see magic reignite and binding the damage together in places. It was painful just to watch, it had to be twice as unpleasant for Grillby.

Hesitating at the door, Gerson looked back once more. He wondered if he should move you somewhere else. It was your house and you were apparently friendly to monsters, but that didn’t mean that someone wasn’t going to lash out at a human in a panic or your presence distress the injured monsters further. Telling everyone you were a mage might garner some pity from the monsters, but you had been terrified by the thought of others knowing.

“Why is everythin’ so difficult,” Gerson growled. “Grill, one last order. Don’t let anyone mess with the bird there. A scout threatened ta throw his foot up my arse… I’d prefer that not ta happen.”

The elemental gave an affirmative nod, his head already a little wobbly.

A drunken agreement would have to do. Gerson had injured monsters to tend to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The banter chapters are upon us! I'm also trying for 2x weekly updates. But this last week my inspiration was gone when I got home. Dealing with too many idiots at work causes my muse to hide somewhere. Probably the closet. GET OUT OF THE CLOSET, YOU LAZY MUSE AND StOP CRYING! No wait, stop! Please! ... I have chocolate?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up the day after the assault a complete mess, with house guests you are sure weren't here the night before.

You were death warmed over, rolled around in a basting of bread crumbs and ash, and then put in an oven at 450 degrees. Voila! Death Casserole.

_Disclaimer: Do not actually EAT the Death Casserole, actual death may occur._

Your head hurt, your skin was clammy and itchy at the same time, and your throat felt like you had swallowed hot embers. The throb of a headache was threatening behind your eyes, but more than that you felt ...hollow. The sensation of being out of magic was extremely uncomfortable, like missing a vital part of yourself or being half blind. Halfway through a yawn, you were abruptly struck with a coughing fit. Struggling to suck in enough air to continue coughing, you clenched your eyes shut and curled into a ball as the coughing shook you.

Something hard struck you in the back, scaring the metaphorical shit out of you, and knocking the rattle loose. Wheezing, the cough quickly was reduced to a scratch and tickle in your throat. With the coughing under control, your savior didn't administer a second smack to your back and instead gave you a gentle pat between the shoulder blades. You needed a drink, you were overheating and your throat was a desert. Water would be ok, but liquor would be preferred. With your magic so depleted, some sort of ale or booze was needed to jump-start your magic, plus the bitter burn would drown the scratchy feeling in your throat.

As if reading your mind, the caustic smell of alcohol sudden assaulted your nose. Crinkling one eye open, you saw one of the reserve bottles of vodka you kept in the cellar had somehow escaped to the cellar. One bottle, half full, was being offered to you by some unseen angel.

Bless you, booze-bearing being.

It took two tries to get your fingers to remember how to grasp the bottle, and another two tries before you found the ability to lift it to your mouth. You got most of the long draught in your mouth, dumping a little down your chin and neck in the process. Swallowing, the bitter burning of fire and magic churned in your stomach. That was all you needed for now. That was all you could stomach, truthfully. Slumping back to the sofa with the bottle curled in the crook of your elbow, you pressed your head to the soft fabric of the world’s worst couch and groaned.

“Is Asgore ok?” Your voice was a scratchy rasp, your throat hurt, even more now after gulp of raw alcohol. The sear of liquor burned all the way down, only to be replaced by blessed numbness. Judging by the pain when you spoke, you had a cold. It was as if you had been yelling all night long.

“Mmm.” An affirmative hum was your answer.

Releasing a sigh of tension, a shudder ran down your spine. “Dammit, it’s really hot in here. Am I sick?” you asked, mostly to yourself. Your clammy palm wandered to your forehead, wiping the slick of sweat away.

Someone shifted, the the room grew slightly cooler. It was as if you had passed out next to the kiln.

“Oh shit, the k-kiln.” You jerked upright as you remembered the kiln exploding, the bottle nearly tipping out from your elbow. The world spun, too bright and too loud. Without any sense of grace or balance, you tried to catch yourself with an outstretched palm, but went sliding off the sofa onto the floor anyway. You landed flat on your back, air knocked out of your lungs and something painfully digging into your spine.

Someone nudged you with a foot.

“Ow. I’m ok… some empty bottles … broke my fall.” Teeth grit together and eyes clenched shut, you managed to twist enough to pull one of the empty vodka bottles out from under your spine.

The half full bottle of vodka was tapped against your forehead again. Fortune favors stupid things, and apparently fortune was partial to shitty vodka that was saved from spilling all over the place. Reaching up blindly, you grasped the bottle firmly and took a drink without looking like a half-drunk, reedy-armed idiot. This time the drink didn’t burn as much, the itch and tingle in your throat was drown out and the fire in your belly stopped rolling sickeningly. There it was -- the delicate balance between not enough alcohol and the right amount.

“I’m done. Thanks.” You lifted the bottle into the air, throwing the other arm over your eyes. The bottle was lifted from your grasp, and you could hear the liquid slosh unsteadily. Your mind whirled, pieces of the night (few hours, several days ago?) before clicking into place. Asgore was here, somewhere. Bandits arrived. The kiln exploded as you vented magic. Your complete breakdown of restraint. There was another intruder… after that you couldn’t remember anything. There was the sense that someone kept waking you up repeatedly, but exhaustion smothered that memory completely out. You didn’t feel unsafe here. You knew Asgore was here, so the monster guard must have arrived in the night. Which meant you had a house full of guard hounds.

The tickle in your throat was back. You most certainly had gotten a cold. Pushing off the ground and into a sitting position, you kept your eyes closed as the room spun. By the time the spinning had stopped, you felt drowsy again, but the desire to get up and do something was burning hotter than this sweltering room.

“Uhnnng, ok, I’m up.” You cracked one eye open again, looking at the sofa. The world did not spin this time. “I’m up.” You repeated, opening the other eye and was relieved when darkness didn’t start to spread at the edges of your vision. “Victory is mine.”

The guard who had been sitting beside the sofa lifted the vodka bottle in salute to your victory and took a long drink.

… that was not a guard.

That was a blue inferno sitting next to the couch as calmly as the ‘tame fire’ Asgore had been admiring in the kitchen last week.

The vodka fire spread quickly across the flame monster, making soft crackling noises before orange flame burned the alcohol away. The elemental gave a sharp huff at the sensation, a cloud of ash and steam rolling off of it… him? You were beside yourself in confusion, wondering if the kiln hadn’t actually exploded last night and instead this monster had stepped out of the oven and kicked everyone’s ass instead.

“Did you… drink all of this?” You rolled one of the empty bottles aside, “This stuff is awful, even I can’t stand more than a drink or two at once before I regret my life choices.”

There was a dry rasp from the elemental, a chuckle or an agreement you weren’t sure which. While wisps of orange flick licked up his neck and curled into what would have been hair on a human, his arms were bare embers that glowed feebly. He lifted the bottle and drained several long pulls as if it were nothing more that watered wine. As his neck tensed, his fire burst blue for a few moments before burning out to orange again. The embers at his arms caught sparks for a few moments as if the alcohol was fanning the flames briefly.

You understood then why the monster was nursing the liquor like it was an elixir. “Hold on,” wobbling to your feet, you stumbled for a moment, catching yourself on the sofa. Someone had taken off your heavy boots and leather apron, leaving you in just canvas work pants and a tunic. You padded to the kitchen, hesitating when two lizards were alarmed at your presence. Swallowing your apprehension and nodding silently to the monsters you slid to a cupboard, digging behind the canisters of tea to find a wide brown glass bottle full of amber liquid. Mumbling an apology to the two monsters you had disturbed you staggered back to the entry hall clutching the bottle. The house was full of strangers, your magic was burning uncomfortably, and you felt an urgent need to find Asgore and make sure he was okay.

“H-Here, try this. It’s… less bitter.” Putting the jug on the floor next to the elemental, you stepped back. It really was like sitting next to the kiln when you were near him, heat prickled at your skin. Your own magic -- as depleted as it was at the moment -- was spitting sparks even as you shuffled backwards. You barely managed to keep the magic pressed in, the itching of your skin growing unbearable. Taking a seat on the sofa you quickly pulled the leather apron on, tying the cord in the back and rolling the collar up to protect your neck - not that it was necessary, just reflexive to do it. Finding your shoes under the sofa, you undid the laces and jammed a foot inside.

“Where is Asgore? And Nibs? Are there here, or did they return up to Ebott?” Sliding a foot into the boot, you cast a sideways glance at the drunk elemental.

Uncapping the new bottle and giving it a sniff, the fire monster gestured outside towards the barn. Taking an experimental sip of the liquor, the elemental didn’t hiss and choke at the flavor this time, and ended up downing at least a quarter of the bottle in a single go.

“... I have never seen anything like that in my life.” You winced as the elemental kept draining the scotch whisky. The bottle hadn’t been cheap, but it did taste better than the bottom tier vodka you used for urgent pick-me-ups. “I think you are so far into ‘drunk’, you’ve reached another realm of inebriation already.”

The elemental nodded, another waft of smoke peeling off of him as the coals stoked into flames on his arms.

“Well.. you do what you … need to do?” You had no idea what to do other than just let him drink. “Ah, and, I should introduce… myself?” Reflexively, you held a hand out to shake and told him your name, and then realized just how stupid that was. You might be a fire mage, but sticking a hand into a fire would still burn you.

To your horror, his hand reached up and fingers locked around your palm before you could pull away. There was no burning pain though, only heat, like that of touching sun warmed bricks. The embers of his palm shifted under your hand, much like a soft human hand would. Pulling your hand up, he touched the back of your knuckles to his forehead in formal greeting… a rather drunken and awkward formal greeting, but it still made you turn a mottled shade of red in embarrassment. His voice was raspy, like the crack of a splitting embers, “Grillby.” It sounded painful to speak, like he was gargling with coals.

Well, awkward introductions completed! On to the awkward silence that follows introductions now! You took your hand back, straightening your apron and brushing the smudge of ash that was smeared against your forearm away. “Um. Well, nice to meet you then, Grillby. Um… I’m just… going to go find… Asgore,” you felt the red blush sink further down your neck as you stumbled over your own words… and your own feet. You awkwardly turned, bounced off a cabinet, and wobbled to the front door and grabbed your cloak from the peg. Even as fuzzy headed as you were, you briefly were left wondering when your cloak had been dried and hung up.

It was still raining outside as you burst out of the house, puddles splashing up at your feet. There was a hound by the door, his fuzzy ears perked up as you exited the house. “Wuff!” The hound greeted, his tail wagging and leaning his head down to eye level with you. You have met multiple snowy white dogs in the guard of Ebott, but unfortunately all of them blended together and you could only tell them apart by their armor. This one had a leather brigandine and a perfect smudged ash paw print on his forehead, as if another dog had come by and pat him on the head.

The dog was waiting for you to say something.

“Thank you, um, for guarding.” You said, reaching out and patting the hound on the ash print.

The tail whirled faster, and a pink tongue lolled out in a doggish smile. Dog pacified!

You had meant to head to the barn to check for Asgore, but the sight of where you had lost control last night drew you in horror. Scorch marks streaked the ground, blacked the stone wall, and scattered ash everywhere, but you had enough control to avoid the barn. Congrats, you _didn’t_ hit the broadside of a barn… you had destroyed practically everything else though. Looking at the yard, you could feel magic churn in distress. Even from here, you could see it was a lost cause… there were half baked bricks blasted out across the yard, even the river-dock was singed despite the fact it was nearly fully submerged in flooding water, the chimney and flue from the kiln had been slammed into the brick wall and nearly bent beyond recognition, and God only knows where the doors of the kiln wound up. Probably lodged in someone’s chest, if the smell of burning flesh and hair were any indication.

“I’m going to be sick,” you whimpered, leaning a hand against the house as you came to a jerky halt. Your stomach revolted against the liquor and the smell of things burning that should never have burned. You had fled the house due to too many strangers, only to flee into memories you don’t want to ever remember. There were no longer corpses in the workyard, someone had taken the dead somewhere else, and for that you would be grateful. What was left of your resolve would have shattered if you had to bury the dead. A breeze of cold wind swept the yard, bringing relief and rain with it. The smell was dampened, at least for now. Staggering to the kiln, you rested one hand against it as you struggled to keep herself calm.

A child’s voice cried your name across the yard, and then you found yourself broadsided by what had to be the fastest moving wall in history.

“Ow… uhg, As-asgore?” Wincing in pain, your head spinning nauseatingly, you opened your eyes to see a vast carpet of wet, gray fur. Ash had coated his snowy white coat, and rain and drenched him entirely. “Oh pumpkin, you look… awful.” His blond hair even looked gray, hang down into his eyes. There were dark rings under his eyes that were out of place on a child’s face, you could only pray they were ash smudges as well. Though judging by way his hung head and trembled… they weren’t.

“Yeah… well. You too.” Asgore sniffled, both arms locked around your back. “You didn’t wake up at all last night. You just kept tossing and turning. And… the kiln… I tried to he-help fix it for you but…”

The oven was a wreck. It looked so much worse in daylight. The entire upper arc of the kiln was gone, either blown off or collapsed inwards. The reservoir for coals and embers to bank had flooded with ruined bricks and water, only a few coals still glowed in the destroyed mess. Ash was _everywhere_. And not the fine dusting of ash that usually covered the yard, but thick clots of half fused charcoal and gritty pieces of brick mixed in.

Even the full situation finally sunk in how you lost control last night, you still managed a smile for the kid, but it was thin and weak. “It’s ok. It’s just an oven. I can rebuild it.” Asgore couldn’t see your faux-smile though, clutching at you with his face pressed into the top of your cloak. “They didn’t hurt you last night, did they? The… the people who attacked?”

“No,” said Asgore, voice hollow.

His short answer sent an alarm through you. This was not typical behavior from the exuberant kid. “Hey, boyo, look at me here. Asgore, listen to me, you puffball, look down.” Reaching up, you managed to get a hand on each side of his ears. The fur was matted from damp and gritty to the touch. Asgore was trembling, but he leaned back and looked down at you.

He was crying.

Alarm turned into panic, and you felt a compulsion to do anything you could to stop his tears.

Asgore burst out in a rush of words, “Th-they attacked you. They wanted to attack _me_. And all these monsters, they tried to _kill_ them! Wh-why would those humans do that? Two of the monsters that came last night d-dusted before the healer could even help. They didn’t do anything to those humans, why did they chase them? I wish I w-was strong like dad, I could have helped you, but I too weak,” The kid wailed, his chest shaking with the force.

It was then you realized that the light gray smudges on Asgore’s striped shirt wasn’t ash… it was dust. The kid had been up all night, trying to help the injured, and comfort the dying.

And now you were furious, frustrated, shamed and fearful all at the same time. “Why are you so perfect? You are kind, and sweet and you even care about stupid humans who don’t have any business doing anything but making stupid bricks.” you let the young monster cling, even as you hung on to him. “You are not weak. Asking for help is never weak. Helping those who need it… it makes you a good kid. I’m glad to help if you ask. I’ll always help if you ask.”

Asgore’s knees buckled and he slumped, you wobbled under the weight. He broke into soft sobs now, grabbing fist fulls of your cloak and hair and mashing it to his face to blot the tears.

You didn’t know what to do. He was traumatized. He was exhausted. Taking two steps back, you managed to pull Asgore to the side of the ruined kiln. Warmth still seeped through the ruined brick, embers inside the wreckage still smoldered through the night. It took some effort, but you managed to get Asgore to sit, leaning against to wall of the kiln. But you could not get him to let go or stop crying.

So you spoke to him, just letting your voice run while you soothed your hands across the back of his neck. You told him he was braver than he knew. You told him he was stronger than he thought. You told him you were proud of him.

Asgore cried even harder. But this time, you had the feeling the tears were part of the healing process. You could do nothing but let him cry, but you said you would stay here as long as he wanted.

Reaching out with your magic, you managed to find a few hot coals left in the wreckage of the kiln and stirred the flames. You felt instantly sickened for your effort, but warmth spread across the area, calming the sobbing monster as he covered his face with both paws.

“And… you’re a mage?” Asgore’s small voice was hoarse from crying.

Your guts turned to ice.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” The kid said, snuggling against your shoulder, fresh tears leaving clean white tracks in his dingy fur. “Thank you for protecting me.”

It wasn’t until your own tears had dried and Asgore fell asleep that you realized you had been crying with him the whole time. Your throat hurt, the cold and crying had made your voice a rasp. But you remained outside in the light drizzle, cloak dragged half over Asgore’s bulk to keep him out of the rain. Moving the fatigued kid would only cause him to cry again, best to let him sleep wherever he could: even if that was on you.

Half in a daze and half dozing, someone sat next to you. You jerked back to wakefulness. “Hey.” Nibs looked out at the yard, his gaze distant.

“‘Ey,” You rasped to him.

“Well.”

“Yep.”

“That, was an awful night,” Nibs said, reaching up to pull on one of his ears. You didn’t need magic to read the future… you could _feel_ the awkward that this conversation was going to be. Nibs was treading carefully around a point, and you were the grand high King of putting your foot in your mouth. There was no way this conversation was going to end well. Of all the monsters on this entire mountain, he was the only one whose opinion you cared about.

Time to get it over with. You took a wheezy breath and asked, “Where did all the monsters come from?”

“Well… the refugees are from the riverlands. They’ve been traveling for about a week to get here… those humans were chasing them the whole way.” Nibs reluctantly spoke of the humans, a grimace on his face.

“Are they ok?” You asked, then felt you had to clarify, “The monsters… not the… you know.” Stage I awkwardness, achieved. You did not want to think about the dead humans.

Glancing at cottage, and the hounds that patrolled, Nibs gave a broad shrug. “Some are, some aren’t. They’ve had some heavy losses, a lot didn’t make it up here. Those that are still alive will recover, the healers finished their first rounds. They’re… stable, at least. Gerson mentioned moving those in a better condition up the mountain soon. The seriously wounded still need some recovery though.”

A long silence now, one in which you found yourself looking down at Asgore’s sleeping face. The kid looked peaceful for the first time that morning, the anguish of despair washed from his face in sleep. Kids deserve to be kids, for as long as they can. He was too young to be bearing the sins of what you had done last night.

Your voice was soft, sounding as if it came from a long way away, “What happened, last night?” You asked, rhetorically.

“You know, I’d like to know the same thing… bird, what happened here?” Nibs asked, his eyes haunted. The bodies of the dead humans had been moved somewhere… You had the awful feeling that Nibs was the one to see to that task.

_I am a weapon…_

You could not tell him. You liked living here. You liked the monsters atop the mountain. But telling Nibs you were a mage would destroy all of that… if it wasn’t already ruined already. Either Nibs would be disgusted you were a mage, or he would be furious you didn’t tell him back when they first met. Keeping a secret from someone who is your closest friend for five years …

You were the shittiest friend ever.

“I did it. It was all me. I … killed them all.” Tears would not come this time. Not for yourself.

“How? _Why?”_ Nibs asked, horrified.

_I am a weapon…_

The half-truth came easily, “Ha, I blew up my kiln, I … I think I killed a man by punching him in the neck… can I… not talk about it?” You took a ragged breath, trying to stamp down the hysterical laughter, “They were going to kill Asgore, so I killed them first.” Your voice was dull, burned out. ‘ _I am a weapon… for Asgore.’_ The mantra had changed. You did not like it. But you never really liked who you were, anyway.

Your answer unsettled Nibs, but the rabbit persisted onwards, “You barely slept last night.” Nibs noted. The rabbit was either horrified by the the waxen complexion you were sporting, or he had seen your half-unconscious sprawl on the too-small sofa.

“Can you tell much?” You wanted it to sound sassy and salty, instead you just sounded drained.

“Between Asgore running in to check on you every free moment he had, Grillby having nightmares next to you all night long, and your own fevered tossing and turning… I think you only got an extra hour of sleep on me.” Nibs pawed at his face.

“And how much sleep did you get?” The tickle in your throat had come back. You would bite your own tongue off if you could keep from coughing and jolting Asgore awake.

“...none.”

“So between the three of us. We got a grand total of one hour of sleep?” You felt drained for all their sakes now. None of the monsters here deserved the mess that had happened last night.

Nibs groaned, slumping sideways so he was leaning against your shoulder.

With the added heat from the ruined kiln the rain seemed less biting than before, your cloak was dry and snug. You lifted an arm, pulling a fold of the cloak with and draping it over Nib’s shoulders.

The rabbit was out cold before he even registered the cloak. The workyard was relatively deserted, most monsters bunked down in the house or barn. Only two white (now ash gray) hounds patrolled along the edge of the wall, their attention on the road.

_I am a weapon…but I make my own choices._

“‘Ey Nibs,” you croaked, eyes sliding closed. “I’m a mage.”

The rabbit was deaf to your whisper though.

“And a coward. Can’t even… tell you when… awake.” You slumped into sleep, unable to keep the press of exhaustion off. At least you were spared dreams. There would have only been nightmares if you dreamed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated (or rather Dedi-cat-ed!) to my idiot cat (or 'Kitt-idiot' as I call her), Commander Sheppurd... who proceeded to sit on my laptop and write about 20 pages of gibberish all over the place. Thanks. Thanks for helping Shep. Really. I enjoyed redoing this about three times. It was... fun. *glare*


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, half-chapter.

Grillby woke up panting, one hand clutched around the neck of a bottle and his flames scorching the tile wall he was leaning against. It took a few frantic seconds of trying to find a target before he realized it was a dream. A nightmare rather, dreams were supposed to be pleasant. Instead he was forced to relive that awful day they fled the village over and over. The nightmares were no longer playing the memory as he remembered it though. Now they were twisting, instead of his sister and brother-in-law being dusted it was his niece’s egg shattering, or the entire village crushed into dust or his own death as everyone watched and did nothing. Every time he closed his eyes, the nightmare found a new way to show him how that day could have ended.

Grillby couldn’t sleep anymore.

The bottle in his hand was empty. He didn’t even know what kind of liquor it had been. Lifting it to his face, the fumes curled acrid and bitter to him: scotch of some sort. His memory was foggy, but he knew someone had given him this after he had drank the most awful vodka he had ever had the misfortune of drinking. It had been like trying to get his flames going by throwing himself into a vat of molten lead. The pain behind his eyes was blinding, and he huffed a cloud of smoke as he slumped against the wall.

He wasn't dead though. He _should_ be dead, but here he was.

The entire night was a blurry haze of memories. The only sharp thing in his mind was that they had made it to a safe haven. The cutthroats had caught up to them. And then been subsequently disposed of by a mage. A truly half-assed mage who succeeded only because of dumb luck and raw magic. Gerson had given him an order to see the mage make it safely through the night. Gerson was also babysitting his niece. And then the liquor washed away all his memories.

Cracking an eye open, Grillby turned his head slowly to the sofa where you were resting in an undignified…

...where was the mage?

_Oh shit._

Alarm managed to burn away a large portion of the buzzing in Grillby’s head. Without the foggy veil of drunkenness, memories surfaced from the last night. It was you that gave him the scotch, he could recall a drunken glimmer of memory now. Staggering to his feet, one hand pressed against the tile wall and the other clutching at the empty bottle still, Grillby tried to head to the kitchen. Instead, he slipped sideways and planted face first into the sofa you had barely been able to fit on. Flailing one arm to try and push off the sofa, Grillby only succeeds on rolling onto the floor with a heavy ‘thump’.

It’s okay, a pile of empty bottles broke his fall.

A tickle of deja vu scratched fingers over his mind, but he couldn’t figure out why.

Trying again, this time the fire monster managed to get his knees under himself and lever into a standing and upright position. Walking was a lot more difficult that he remembered it being. At a snail’s pace, Grillby managed to make it to the kitchen and braced himself on the door frame.

No human. Just two lizard monsters who looked at him curiously.

“H...human?” Grillby rasped. His attempt at speaking spat sparks and cinders and his throat filled with ash for his attempt.

“Outside!” One of the monsters chirped.

Grillby retreated from the kitchen before either of the monsters could try and speak any further. He was far too drunk for this, but Gerson had given him just one duty last and somehow he had botched it.

‘ _Does it really matter? This is the mage’s home. The guards from Ebott are here too. No one would do anything to her._ ’ His mind argued, making a compelling case for returning to his spot on the floor. ‘ _Besides. She’s a mage. If anyone did try anything, there’d be another repeat performance of last night.’_

And suddenly just like that, Grillby felt sober. Sober and with an urgent need to find the mage before anyone antagonized you and found themselves looking down a fireball. How fast could a mage recoup lost mana? Monsters took several days to recover if nearly tapped out, he could only imagine a human must be the same. Stars… how the hellfire did you manage to move about if out of magic? Grillby felt sluggish and weak, even with who knows _how_ many bottles of liquor fortifying his flames.

Thought the numbing cloud of drunkenness had cleared, liquor still clouded his mind and reactions. Walking was a trial, staying upright was clearly a skill that was taken for granted. Making it to the front door, Grillby managed to pull his cloak free after a few tries. He could remember hanging his damp cloak up last night, vaguely. And your wet cloak too.

Somewhere between drinking the first two bottles of vodka, Grillby could remember Asgore had entered the house a sopping mess. The young monster paused by you long enough to pull your hair out of your face, touching your cheeks and eyebrows carefully. Almost in awe. Then the kid decided you would be more comfortable without boots and the heavy leather apron you wore. Grillby had watched the scene drag out, his eyes burning with exhaustion and booze. Asgore paused before leaving, looking every bit like the 10-year-old he was, and not the adult he was trying to be. Then the kid scampered into the back room to help. Time blurred together in a soggy mess, but he could remember the kid doing this several times through the night.

Grillby didn’t see what was so special about you that the King’s son kept himself run ragged just to keep coming into the room to check on you. Was it the fact you were a mage? Was it that you could smile prettily and charm people? Was it the novelty of a monster-sympathetic human?

Each time Grillby fell asleep last night he dropped into another dream plagued by nightmares. Somewhere after he started the third bottle of vodka, the dreams were so bad he started fighting with sleep, trying to fend it off and failing. Each time he woke panting and with a crackle of flames, you would stir from your burned out state, and stare with eyes that weren’t quite seeing him. More than once, you seemed to think he was the kiln that was outside.

“Shhhhh, noisy,” your voice was a low hum. You reached out with a clumsy palm and pat Grillby’s knee. Then a spark of magic jolted into him from the mage. “Sh sh sh, you awful chunk of coal, stop being so bitter. Shhhh,” you cooed, half asleep.

Did you just….

Actually, strangely, he felt better. The spark from the mage, though tiny, was raw fire magic. It was much more effective than drinking liquor, though nowhere near as effective as if it had been used in a healing spell. His own flames returned briefly, the embers underneath crackling and small glowing rends sealing back together. It only lasted a few minutes before his fire receded again, the extra magic burned out for a short burst of healing. Grillby could remember at least twice during his drunken haze when you did this, both times he was struggling to shake off a nightmare. If you were woken by every one of his nightmares and still feeding him mana in a dazed state, how did you have the strength to wander off somewhere...

Pulling his cloak over his shoulders and drawing the hood, Grillby opened the door and stepped outside. It wasn’t really raining, per say, but it was certainly foggy and chilly, the air heavy with humidity and the ground was freshly soggy. It wasn’t good weather to be outside in, but Grillby had to find the mage before…

Nevermind. Found you.

Or rather, Asgore had found you by the looks of it. The kid was using you as a snuggle toy, his arms engulfing you and your cloak wrapped around him. Nibs was leaning against your other side, lost in the heavy cloak as well. Behind them all the ruins of the kiln struggled onwards, sparks and embers still burning in small pockets in this misty weather. Even broken, half destroyed and exposed to the elements, the kiln still roared with fire. Though it was now useless for baking bricks, it was still able to provide enough warmth to keep the three of them comfortable as they slept.

Coming to a stop in front of the three sleeping figures, Grillby looked down as the haze of drunkenness started to burn into sobriety. He could see the dried tears in the tracks in Asgore’s fur, and your cloak bore stains of tears and ash and snot from where the kid had been crying into your shoulder. Ashen smudges ringed your eyes as well, and trails of muddy charcoal had dried against your skin.

A nightmare began to torment Asgore, the child flinching and curling his paws over his face as he mewled.

“Shhhh, it’s fine, shh shhh. I’m right here,” your voice was thick with sleep as you stirred, one hand coming up to catch the kid behind the neck. A spark of magic cracked along your wrist before being absorbed by the kid. Asgore’s nightmare ended as abruptly as it started, the worried look sliding off his face for one of peace again. Burrowing into the cloak so his nose was covered, there was a deep sigh before he dropped off into deeper dreams.

Grillby realized the reason Asgore was so taken with you wasn’t due to charm or intrigue or even a childish crush. It was because you were like the mother the kid had lost. The queen had been kind and concerned, but hellfire if you crossed her and upset the puffball. She had been stern when she needed to be, a teacher when Asgore was curious, a rock when he needed someone to support him. This was also you. You were every bit a parent even with no children of your own. Meanwhile, Grillby felt he was barely functional. Every time he saw the egg, all he could think of was his sister’s death. He saw the egg as a _thing_ that needed to be protected… not a child that needed nurturing. How was he supposed to do all that for his niece?

He needed to sober up. And get some rest. His core was intact and bright, but the rest of him still hurt with raw embers under the weak fire. Turning, Grillby made his way back inside, needing to get as far away from the mage as he could. It wasn’t fair… how could the human feel _anything_ after the chaos of last night?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am an idiot. I THOUGHT I had all of next week off on vacation. The reality... I don't. I only have Thursday/Friday off. So while I'll be gone over the entire weekend, I'm going to attempt to figure out how to 'pre-release' with the backdate release. Three chapters for next week! GO MUSE GO! *muse transforms into an angry old man, and tells everyone to get off the lawn*


	9. Chapter 9

By the time you woke again, it was mid day. For the first time, the sun was breaking through the clouds, and the damp yard was slowly starting to dry. Your eyes stung with the bright light, and your head ached. Actually, all of you ached. Your throat was stinging, your back was stiff, your arm had fallen asleep, and your hips and rump couldn’t take sitting on the ground under the weight of two monsters for another moment. Time to relocate. Face-down in a ditch would be better than this.

“Nnnffn,” You rolled your tongue, trying to unstick it from the roof of your dry mouth. Asgore was still curled under your arm, his face pressed into your shoulder. Both of the kid’s arms were clutching around your ribs, paws occasionally twitching in dream. Your arm was completely numb, Asgore’s weight leaning against your shoulder was cutting off blood flow. “Nibs, Nibs, wake up. We need to get up, and go to sleep.”

“That sounds stupid, just let me sleep.” Nibs groaned, his paw clutching at your cloak and pulling it over his face.

“Wake up. Then go sleep in the barn. Straw is better than sleeping on bricks like this.” You shifted, wincing against the pins and needles, and trying to push the rabbit to his feet.

Giving a grunt of acknowledgment, Nibs staggered towards the barn, his feet padding through damp and squishy earth as he shuffled along. Asgore didn’t even stir as you struggled to your feet, managing to stand while holding the young monster in your arms. He weighed only what a 10 year old human child would have, despite being the size of a massive knight. That said, lifting boneless 10-year-old children was one hell of a challenge. A bit dizzy from your poor sleep, you took extra care in placing your feet as you carried Asgore into the barn as you trailed behind Nibs.

The barn was filled with monsters. The two oxen were mild tempered and didn’t mind sharing their stalls, the other stall was packed full of monsters now sleeping in clean straw. In the gloom of the loft, you could see almost five or six monsters curled in the hay and bags of corn and grain for cattle feed. On the ground floor, someone had used the stacks of bricks as anchor points for hammocks, giving more space to the cramped barn.

One of the hounds spotted you carrying Asgore, and gave a soft ‘boof’ to get your attention. Gesturing to an empty spot on a hay bale amidst the sleeping refugees, you carefully laid the boy down on the pile and tugged your cloak off to cover him. The child gave only an uncomfortable mumble, but snuggled down into the hay and sighed, dragging the cloak over his nose. Running your hands carefully over his face, smoothing the dried tear marks and ash away, you stood for a few moments to make sure the kid wasn’t about to wake up in alarm. Nibs was nearby, having flopped face-down into a pile of straw. The barn usually had the added advantage of being close enough to the kiln that most days the warm fire heated the barn too… but not today. Today, with the flames of the kiln dying, the barn was chilly and damp.

“I don’t know what to do now,” you mumbled duly, combing fingers through Asgore’s blond mane. The caravan was only days away. While you had enough bricks completed to meet the order, your livelihood was destroyed unless you could hire laborers in town to accompany you back up the mountain to reconstruct the kiln. And odds were slim anyone would come with… the rainy season was upon them, and once rain stopped falling ice would follow. No builder in his right mind would choose now to climb Mount Ebott. You might be strong and physically able to do repairs, but the kiln was built strangely with fitted stones and metal plates to trap heat. Brute strength alone wasn’t enough to repair it, you didn’t know the first thing about smithing the metal plates to repair it, and your mason skills were extremely limited.

“There yeh are.” A deep voice caused you to jerk back in alarm from your deep thoughts.

A familiar tortoise (why was he familiar? Something something captain? Thanks, brain, good help.) stood at the barn door, peering into the gloom with a side satchel bag over one arm, and a stack of wet blankets over the other. “Got a minute? Can’t figure out yer human house,” his voice dropped an octave into a quiet rumble, “an we need ta talk about ya being a mage.”

You went rigid. You were pretty sure your heart stopped right there.

Outside, the kiln gave a gurgling hiss as the flames tried to kick up, but it was too wet to catch fire. Instead it seethed, a sustained roar growling in rage.

“See, _that’s_ what we need ta talk about!” he jerked thumb over in the direction of the hissing kiln tossing the wet blankets over his forearm. “Com’on, bird, inside. Show me how this washroom of yers works without magic… primitive human plumbing.”

It felt like you were half dreaming, you didn’t really want to follow, but you also knew the monster in question wasn’t being threatening. Aside from Asgore and your late husband, no one in your life who acknowledged were a mage had treated you anything different than a weapon… or a demon. You didn’t know what there was to even ‘talk’ about in being a mage, you just _were_.

The washroom in the cottage house was a simple thing, unlike some of the elaborate plumbing that could be found in castles or nobility houses. There was a wood basin bathtub that stood over a floor drain, that released bathwater back into the river. A small reservoir pulled water from the river, and stored it in a tank beside the kiln that kept it warm (or sometime downright hot if you used magic). The tanks could be tapped to fill the bathtub directly, but the small basin sink had to be filled by bucket. There was no toilet in this room, the outhouse was where it belonged... _outside._

The monster tossed the wet bedsheets into the tub, then pointed at the spigot. “How do ya get this thing ta work? The levers do nothing.”

You silently went to the wall, pulling on a ring chain that opened the sluice gate. There was a gurgling as the tank outside opened and water started gushing into the bathtub.

‘ _Started’_ being the keyword. Because after a few moments, it stopped and was reduced to barely a trickle. “The tanks must have been ruptured last night.” You pulled the ring a few more times, but there was no change. Just another thing that went wrong.

“Might be another thing that didn’t go right, but if not fer yer magic, nothin’ woulda gone right.” Gerson said.

You jerked in alarm. Had you… said that last part out loud?

“First off..,” He said your name then, it put you on edge to hear your name from a stranger. He stood a bit straighter, his shell sloping and heavy. He was just a few inches shorter than you, but about twice as wide.

Swallowing down a sense of dread, you nodded. “Yes?”

He reached down, one paw catching the fingers of your left hand. “Gerson, captain o’ tha guard o’ Riverside...we thank yeh fer yer help.” Bowing at the waist, he lifted your hand to his forehead, tapping the knuckles between his brows. With his introduction, you performed your customary greeting of return by turning a brilliant shade of red, stammering, and sounding like an idiot.

Embarrassing formal introductions completed. Huzza.

“Now, do yeh have any soap?” Now onwards to confusion conversations about laundry. Apparently. Gerson held up a sheet that was stained with a dusty smear, examining the stain with a frown before he tossed it back in the bathtub. Hesitating, you retrieved the soap from a small vanity and handed it to him. The dusty smudge quickly was wiped clear from the linens, and soapy water was drained in short order.

“I can help with--,” you started to offer before you were cut off.

“Nay, I got this. It’s doing the wash, not baking a _souffle_ here.” The tortoise shook you off, scrubbing at the sheets. Then he paused as the bag at his shoulder bumped gently into the bathtub. “But yeh can hold this.”

You took the strap of the bag and hefted it over your shoulder. It felt like it was only full of clothes. Settling back against the wall, you waited in cold dread for the questions to start.

“So… been a mage yer whole life?” Gerson started with small talk.

It was awkward.

“... yes?” it felt like a trick question. “As opposed to a meat pie?”

“Sass won’t help yeh here, girl,” Gerson snorted, “Yeh have some of the strangest stats I’ve ever seen. I’ve heard human mages can learn any spells if they bother takin’ the time. Is that true?”

“Nnny-yes? No, n-not really? M-ma-mages are… are _born_ w-with one type of-of-of,” you grit your teeth and bite your tongue sharply to try and jolt out your stuttering with pain, “of magic! Only s-sages know m-multiple types.” It was like pulling teeth, the stuttering, the hesitation, it took almost a full minute for you to stammer out that single reply. Your throat still ached, you wished you had the flask of vodka, you _needed_ the drink for reasons completely unrelated to boosting your magic. Swallowing thickly several times without success, you couldn’t speak. Your teeth had bit down at the tip of your tongue in a reflexive snap to keep yourself silent.

Gerson’s gold eyes considered you carefully, you felt an uncomfortable rolling of magic at the action. “Hmm, how about if I ask a question, and you nod your head if I’m right?”

Giving Gerson a pitiful look, you found that he was already waiting for an answer. Your teeth were clamped down over the tip of your tongue still, any harder and you would draw blood. Talking wasn’t an option like this. So you nodded.

“Alright, I can work with this. Yer a mage. That’s obvious. Elemental: Fire only?”

Nod.

“Ever had any training?”

A short pause, then a small nod, barely perceptible.

“Ah, not a good student?”

You didn’t answer to this. Clumsy fingers were fumbling with the bag strap across your chest as you fidgeted.

“Hmmm, let me try again… not a good _teacher_ then?”

And now, you nodded. You nodded furiously, locks of hair tangled along your neck.

Gerson turned his attention to the sheets again, scrubbing another clean and turning on the reservoir to see if there was any more water he could use to rinse them clean. A small finger of water dripped through, barely enough. “Well, that makes some sense. The wrong teacher can do more harm than good. Came from the city then?”

“Northhaven.” You choked out. The words tasted like dirt, and you felt the need to spit. Instead, you managed to swallow without choking.

“Ah. Yeah. That’s where the Academy is, in’it?” Gerson was far more knowledgeable about mages than you realized a monster could be. All mages, discovered after their powers awakened, were given to the Academy for training. And ‘give’ was entirely too generous of a word. Most mages were simply discarded by their families, fear of the children doing magic was stronger than blood ties. Word was that any family that didn’t want to ‘give’ their child would often have them _taken_ by force _...._ but most were simply glad to be rid of such an oddity of a child.

Your own family had locked you in the barn until a sage could retrieve you when your magic came in. Still, having your family ‘give’ you to the Academy was one of the better things that could happen to a mage. The Academy provided an education, a room, food, and training, which was more than any witch could ever get out in the world on their own.

At first, it had been a godsend. you had enjoyed learning to read, learn sums, and proved to be adept at using magic. The other children there were all mages too, it was nice to have other kids with abilities like your own to play with and grow up with. When you turned sixteen, you had been chosen for second tier training – testing to see if you were cut out to be a sage.

The short answer was: no, you were not. The training had broken you. Broken mages had no use. So you ran, leaving an entire wing of the academy in burning ruins and left without looking back.

“So what are yeh doing up here on Ebott? Been here a while, on yer own, from what Nicodemus said.” Gerson pulled the wet sheet out of the bathtub, wringing it out and pointedly not looking at you.

“My husband. God rest his soul. He picked the furthest from any settlement to build the kiln. This is… the life we chose. I’ll choose death before I leave my home.” You shuddered, feeling your magic start churning, and heat blazed across your skin. Not a blush this time, but the beginnings of rage. Embers of magic crackled your skin, stray magic searching for a target or a spell. One of them fell on a towel and it went up in a blaze.

With a curse, the tortoise snatched the burning towel off of the rack and threw it in the bathtub half filled with water, but your outburst was already done. The sparks had faded out and you had fists balled into a white knuckled grip as you struggled with your magic. “Yeh good now?” Gerson asked warily.

Taking a deep breath, a cloud of ash exhaled from your mouth. A small cough brought more ash and you scrambled the bath faucet, cupping your palm to catch the trickle of water and bring it to your mouth. Spilling most down your front, you wheezed, “I’m done. S-sorry. Haven’t had a full outburst since… probably the Academy.”

“Aye, cause yer bottlin’ everything up.” Gerson, sighed, rubbing at his head. “Flaming hellfire, kid.”

Then the monster was giving you a hug.

“I’d, I don’t--,” you stammered, face going red as you twisted away from the tortoise. Taking one hand off the bag, you covered you face as the red blush spread down your neck. “I’m fine. Well… not right now I’m not. I just need time.”

Giving you a pat on the back, Gerson stepped back and said. “Yer magic is all blocked up.”

“Pardon?”

“Not just yer magic, sounds like ye’ve been bottlin’ everything up, including your soul’s aspect.” Gerson was staring through you, his eyes focused on something beyond your chest. “The less yeh used magic, the more blocked up yeh got. Magical constipation.”

“... you did not just call it that.” You wrinkled your nose, aghast by the metaphor.

Gesturing to your chest, where your core of magic and soul would be, Gerson shrugged, “It’s what it is though. The more yeh use magic regularly, the more ‘regular’ you get. An the harder yeh fight against yer soul’s aspect, same thing. Can't tell what yer aspect is without fightin' yeh, confrontations being... less than pleasant. Best ta just leave it be.”

Your own eyes dropped to your chest, as if you could see the magic Gerson was talking about. As your fingers tightened on the strap of the bag, you thought you could feel a fluttering sensation, like butterflies in your stomach… but in the wrong place. Was the bag shaking?

Gerson noticed your far away stare as you looked down. “Kid, what in hellfire are yeh staring at. That’s not where your soul is, or yer magic.”

“Not mine… ” You swallowed a prickle in your throat, eyes widening. Your hands flipped the toggle of the bag, and you drew out an egg. There was a green light that came from the shell, and a white fluttering _something_ that brushed inside the egg.

This was a monster _baby_. And a large crack spanned half of the egg.

Looking up suddenly at Gerson, you had a look of horror on you face. “You handed me a baby… and you didn’t _tell me?_ What is _wrong_ with you?! What is wrong with this baby?!”

The captain chuckled at your sudden panic.

“It’s not funny! You can’t just put a baby into luggage! Who’s kid is this?!”

Gerson was now laughing so hard, he had to rest his hands on the edge of the bathtub, his shell shaking with his guffaws.

Glaring, you curled the egg to your chest protectively, “Whoever trusted you with a kid has some serious judgment issues.” The awkward shyness was gone. You were made of rage now. “What is wrong with this kid _?_ Are they ok, can it be healed?” Reaching out, your fingers dug into the edge of Gerson’s plastron, magic crackling as it looked for a spell.

What the magic found was the egg. The sparks were soaked into the fragile egg quickly. You hadn’t been trying to feed sparks to the child, but the soul in the egg was in desperate need of magic and captured the lost magic.

The two of you were staring at the egg in awe and horror. “Ken yeh do that again?” Gerson rasped.

“The… the magic or the anger?” You got both hands on the egg, afraid you were going to drop it.

“Either, as long as ye make those sparks again. This kid is in a bad way. I don’t have huge reserves o’ magic like her uncle does, I’ve givin’ everything I can ta this spark, and she needs more. With a crack like that in the shell, the spark is losing more magic than she gets. She’ll not last long without more magic.” Gerson put a hand on the egg as well, his fingers palm covering the crack as his fingers trapping your hands on the shell.

“W-what if I blow it up, or bu-burn it?” You squeaked.

“Yeh can’t. Yer a fire mage, this is a fire monster. Yeh literally can’t hurt her with yer magic. Unless yeh can do other magics as well…” Gerson gave the you a critical eye. You felt a sudden jab of magic crawl across your skin like an unwanted touch and flinched. You were just checked. “All I see is fire in there, lass. Yeh can’t make this spark worse than she already is.”

_Her._ He said. It was a little girl. Even in an egg, she was still a child, monster or not.

You did the best you could, it took a minute of focus to even manage to release the death-grip you had on your magic. The magic you could barely control skidded over the surface of the egg and the sparks were pulled through the shell to the hungry soul within. It only lasted a few seconds, you didn’t have much more magic than that. Teeth gritting, you tried a few more times to pull magic forth, but it was obvious you were on empty again. Swaying unsteadily, lightheaded from the complete lack of magic, you manage to keep upright due to dumb luck. You had to be helped into a sitting position, or you would have taken a nosedive straight into the floor.

Gerson gently took the egg from you and returned it to the bag, keeping one paw holding of both your cold hands with one of his. “Hellfire, bird, that was more magic than I could spare over the past day, and yer still on empty from the other day. How fast ken mages regain lost mana?”

“Fast.” You lowered your head to your knees, eyes bleary and dull. “A good night’s sleep, and some food, I’d have a full store of mana in a little more than a day.”

The monster was aghast. “That fast?!”

“S’not like I’m using mana to live like monsters do. Magic is just…,” You waved a hand feebly, making an indecipherable gesture, “... a byproduct of existing. Humans just need food and water to keep living, mages are the same.”

Gerson gave you a critical glance, his own magic checking yours again and you cringed at the sensation of crawling magic over your skin. The result was probably not what he was expecting. But you’d knew what he would see. There was no lvl on you, but that was not surprising. Lvl was only gained by killing _monsters_ specifically. It had been years since you felt the poke of magic from another. It felt much like you remembered from your Academy days… like someone peeking under your skirts and goosing you.

“Do you mind?” you grumbled.

Tortoise started and jerked away. “Sorry!” Then there was a pause. “Wait… no, I’m not sorry, yeh cheeky-devil! It was just a check! Monsters check monsters all’a time!”

“Telling you my greatest secret here, Gerson… I’m not a monster.” You barely could lift your head from your knees, eyelids fluttering as you struggled to stay awake.

“Shock an’ awe! I never imagined!.... Yeh great burning idjit.” Snorting, Gerson pushed himself to his feet, and took the egg-bag from the sink to sling over his shoulder carefully. Taking a seat again beside you, Gerson thought things over silently. “Yeh know how monsters hatch, yes?”

Wiping at your face, you snuffled and looked down at the bag. “Yea, Mays told me. It takes love. And magic. And to keep them safe.”

Nodding, Gerson raised one bushy eyebrow in surprise that you knew this. “Well, the little spark in that egg is already at a disadvantage. With a cracked egg, it can’t hold magic. She’ll need more than twice the amount of magic a fire elemental would normally take and their kind already takes an impossible amount of magic,” Gerson sighed, leaning against the wall, “And her parents are gone. All she has is her uncle… and he’s… mourning, and healing from his injuries. He won’t have the magic alone to keep her alive either. And without love, eggs can take years to hatch until they can finally gather enough. He won’t have that long… the great idiot will bleed himself dry trying to keep this spark going.”

The room was quiet for a bit, your breathing almost under control as you fumbled to wipe at the exhaustion on your face with a forearm. You felt cobwebs of sleep making your eyelids grow heavy. Unsure what the proper response to Gerson was, you simply looked up at him with dull eyes. What did he want from you?

Gerson’s could see you were struggling to comprehend, so he simplified it. “If yer not using yer magic for anything… ken ye help keep that spark alive?”

The burning prickle was back in your throat, “Her uncle? Grillby?”

“That’d be him.” The tortoise showed only faint surprise that you knew the elemental’s name.

Nodding, you mumbled, “If you don’t tell him I’m a mage, I can do that.”

“Well, about that,” Gerson winced now, “He already knows.”

“W-what!? D-does everyone know? Oh god does Nibs know?!” Panic lanced up your spine, squeezing your lungs. You suddenly grew lightheaded. Panic plus exhaustion does not mix. As you struggled to breathe, things started to go dark at the edges.

Threading one of his large hands to the back of your head, Gerson quickly pushed your head back down to rest on your knees. “Calm down, ‘for yeh pass out on the floor. Only ones that know are Asgore, Grillby, and meself… namely cause Grillby got hit by a fireball during yer rampage last night.”

There was a mumbled curse from you that turned into a distressed whine.

“How about this, no one _else_ will learn yer a mage… _and_ yeh learn some control.” Gerson offered.

“I have control,” you argued, mumbling into your knees.

There was a dry cackle from the tortoise. “If that’s ‘control’, I’d hate to see yeh when yeh lose it.”

It was true, your control was awful. It hadn’t always been this bad though. You were out of practice from five years of trying to shove your magic aside and fearing it’s use. Maybe you were magically constipated. … god dammit, Gerson, that was never going to leave your mind now.

“Deal,” the pact as reluctantly made. As little as you wanted to deal with magic, you knew if left unchecked a mage was a danger to everyone around them and themselves. It made them easier for witch hunters to find them too. And if it helped save that kid… you were in.

This left the question of ‘when’ your lessons would take place though. “So… how do I regain control?”

“Step one… take a nap.” Gerson cackled.

“Uh… I’m … pretty sure this wasn’t part of the Academy course work,” you blinked in confusion.

“Nah. But that’s ‘cause humans do it all backwards. Anyway, yeh got no magic left in yeh at the moment to practice with, and the lil’ spark is counting on yeh. Training will have ta come later, once everything is… hellfire, ‘normal’ isn’t the right word here, iz’it?”

You shook your head vigorously. But you got the message. Training would have to wait until the elemental egg wasn’t in imminent danger of dying, and you had magic recovered.

Gerson rose to his feet with a groan, his heavy shell making is difficult to straighten his back. “Com’on lil’ bird. Let’s get yeh some rest.” Twisting his hand under your arm, it took several tries to get you to your feet, and several stumbles before he got you out of the washroom. You didn’t even protest being dragged with like a piece of luggage.

In the entry hall, Grillby had returned to his spot of floor next to the couch, half slumped onto the furniture as he slept wearing a pair of slacks and a loose fitting tunic. A pile of armor was pushed under the sofa, ash and charcoal smudging the bright red and brass color into dull gray. The elemental’s flames were low, barely burning really, but the raw embers were covered by a healthy ripple of fire Even his injured arm had a gentle lick of flames along bare embers. It was the best Grillby had looked in days. The healer must have made at least a quick pass over him, just to make sure he was stable. He was finally in a restful sleep, arms curled under his head and breathing slow and regular.

Carefully, Gerson helped you sit on the sofa without waking Grillby. You blearily blinked heavy eyes, working your boots off your feet, and peeling your apron over your head, dropping both in a pile on the floor. Curling into a small shape on the sofa, you rolled so your back was to the warmth that Grillby was radiating. As the world slid sideways into unconsciousness, you heard Gerson speaking to the egg-bag in a slow rumble, the words almost lost but the soothing intentions clear.

“It’s the best I can do, lil spark. Yeh better not be a picky eater, we don’t got the mana ta keep yeh going otherwise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 90% certain, Gerson is my spirit monster. He's a curmudgeonly old man with a wonky sense of humor... that is entirely what my muse is. 
> 
> As apology for the short last chapter, there will be 3 chapters this week. 2 being big-ass chunks that I couldn't find a good way to divide up. Meanwhile, I have a family reunion I have to go to, so I'll see if the back-release function works...
> 
> Thank you for your comments, honestly, I was writing this for myself, as a 'warm up' and it literally spiraled into something bigger than I thought it would be.


	10. One Great Misunderstanding....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE CHAPTER POST!  
> And now, I away! (packs luggage, preps for road trip, ... brings Excedrin and booze for dealing with family)

When you woke, there was beam of light trying to stab you in the eyes like a tiny, vengeful murderer.  Groaning, you rolled over to escape it… and fell off the sofa.  Fortunately, there wasn’t a pile of bottles to break your fall this time.  At least the pesky light beam wasn’t able to reach you here on the floor.  The bone deep exhaust was finally gone but your throat felt like you had been gargling with glass.  Swallowing was difficult now.  Your magic reserves were slowly replenishing, a short sleep had done wonders for that at least.  However there was now an empty pit in your stomach and it gave a growl of hunger.

From the floor, you could hear the creak of wood from monsters shifting around inside the house.  A soft conversation was being held inside the washroom, and there was a deep snoring from the spare bedroom.  Outside the house, you could hear the cluck of chickens as they prowled the damp yard, and a heavy panting from outside the door from one of the hounds.  A constant chatter could be heard from the barn, it sounded rather like a drill sergeant barking orders to his men… you guessed it was probably Gerson.

The loudest sound, however, was from right next to you.  Grillby, was still asleep leaning against the couch.  Even when sleeping, he made a constant pop and crack as of fire chewing through coals.  His breathing sounded like someone pumping bellows into a furnace, and when he stirred slightly there was a hiss of pain as he tucked his arm against his chest.

It was strange to look at him, he was clearly made of fire, but he burned nothing that he touched.  He was solid enough to wear clothes, but somehow the occasional wisp of flame curled along the outside of the fabric.  It made no sense.  It defied logic.  But then again, it was magic, and magic didn’t much care for logic.  Grillby’s face was only vaguely human-ish.  He had eyes, and a mouth, and a strong jawline, but none of the other features a human possessed.  Under the softly rolling fire there were small citrine coals that shifted much like muscles.  In sleep, you could even make out tiny fiery eyelashes that flickered over his lids and twitched as he dreamed.  You hoped he wasn’t having nightmares again.

Realizing you were staring, you jerked upright and off the floor, wobbling to your feet.  Your stomach made a noise of hunger, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten anything in almost 24 hours.  Supplies were getting a bit thin in the kitchen.  The caravan was due to arrive in… what… five days?  You had enough fresh eggs that you could eat every meal as eggs if you had to, but you wanted something a bit more substantial.  Bread or meat or, hellfire, you’d even settle for porridge.

Padding silently into the empty kitchen, you tried to rub a kink out of your neck as you yawned.  The kitchen fire was half banked, the coals running low and hot, and a kettle was warming over the fire.  A few dirty plates were still on the table, and a larger stack of clean ones piled near the sink.  Taking stock of supplies, you came to the conclusion that you were out of almost everything.  The last of the bread was gone, and you knew you didn’t have any more flour for baking.  The refugees had avoided the salted beef, but cleared out the vegetables you had left.  A bag of oats had been brought in from the barn, someone had been making porridge.  The oxen had plenty of hay and corn yet to hold them over until the caravan arrived.  Plus, they could always graze on whatever the heck they wanted.  Grass, weeds, souls, whatever it was cows felt like eating.

… except maybe not souls.  You _hoped_ not souls.

Pouring yourself a mug of hot water, and tossing the remaining tea leaves into the cup, you started on a late breakfast as the sun started to set.  It would have to be fried eggs and porridge, as would be breakfast the next day… and lunch… and dinner.  Five days of eggs and porridge… ugh.  

“Ah good, yer up.”  Gerson’s thick drawl was becoming more familiar, you didn’t even need to turn around to tell it was him.

You flashed a thumbs up, continuing to stir the oats in the pot, trying to bring it to a boil.

“Here, the lil spark need another bolt of magic, if yeh ken spare it.”  Holding out the strap of the bag, Gerson offered the kid to you.  

Yours eyes darted between the stewing oats, to the bag, to the heavy wooden spoon you were stirring the pot with.  Making a gesture to the pot with an exaggerated stirring motion, you then pointed to Gerson.

“Yeh want me ta stir?”  Gerson cocked an eyeridge at her.  “And where’s yer voice?”

Tapping your palm to the apple of your throat, you winced at sharp sting of pain you felt there.  The stress of wiping your magic out again on top of the cold had taken a toll on you.  It would pass in a day or so if you could eat something and catch up on sleep.

Taking the hint, Gerson took the wooden spoon as you took the bag.  “Fine, but I’ll have yeh know, cooking is where my talents end.  Lead an army: sure.  Raise a kid: done it.  Laundry: yep, can do that too if yeh’ll believe.  Cook food:... hope you can eat charcoal.”

You tried to laugh, but all you managed was a short ‘heh’ before you cut off the chuckle with a hiss of pain.  You took the mug of tea, and the bag to the table, setting both down before taking a seat.  A long drink of tea felt like you had just tried to drink molten lead, the pain lancing down your spine.  However the drink soothed even as it burned, leaving you panting and grimacing but feeling better for your suffering.

As gently as you could, you pulled the bag open and tugged the wrappings away from the egg.  It looked no different than the last time you saw it: the crack still spanned half the egg, the green light inside flickered unsteadily, and a small white heart could be seen glowing through the shell.  Touching your fingers to the crack, the soul flickered towards them, searching for magic.  Letting a few sparks of raw magic go, they danced on your hand before being pulled through the shell.  The soul seemed just a bit brighter for it, its sluggish movements finally growing a little more alert.

“D’yeh have more magic than that t’give?”  Gerson asked, watching as he stirred the pot.

You held thumb and forefinger an inch apart, showing you had only a little more magic left.  Putting both hands back to the egg, you gave another few sparks of mana.  Like before, the soul in the egg pulled them through and absorbed it, now with more gusto.

Dragging fingers over the egg to the undamaged portion, you released another spark of magic.  The soul darted over and gathered the magic up, fluttering gently.  Again, you moved your fingers to a new spot, and released another spark, and again the soul chased after the magic.  Bringing your fingertip back to the damaged portion of the egg, the soul followed automatically this time, expecting a release of magic.  You released a few more sparks of magic, gently petting the egg.  If the soul could feel contact, maybe she would be comforted by touch, since you couldn’t give love.

The fine hair along the nape of your neck and arms suddenly prickled.  Unaware for the first few seconds as you focused on releasing magic, it wasn’t until Gerson said, “Grillby… don’t,” in a steady and warning tone that you suddenly realized you had an observer.

Looking up in alarm, pulling the egg against your chest as you jerked away, you found Grillby looming over you with a rather unfriendly look on his face.  Actually, ‘unfriendly’ wasn’t the right word.  He looked murderous.

Reflex and instinct kicked in.  You shot out of your chair and magic sparked a spell this time.  A cloak of fire whirled around your shoulders, forming what should have been an impenetrable shield… if your assailant weren’t a fire monster who didn’t care about fire attacks.  You felt a check bounce off of your magic and flinched at the sensation.  The fire elemental remained where he stood, the rage burning away to be replaced by a difficult to read expression.

A few seconds later the flame cloak was gone, the magic stripping off in ribbons and pulled into the egg by the very hungry soul within.  A chill of exhaustion soaked into your bones and you couldn’t hold back the shiver.  That had been the last usable spark of magic you had, you were once again depleted.  A child not yet born had just disarmed you.  You were a pretty shitty mage.  Or alternatively, fire monsters were frighteningly strong, even as babies.  Neither really did your pride any favors.

Returning the egg to the bag, tucking it in the soft wool cloth strips, you pulled back and held up both hands showing you had no weapon.  Grillby glanced from your empty hands to the egg briefly before snatching up the bag and stepping back.

“Yeh better be sober there, boy.  Or I’ll be taking that lil spark back.”  Gerson waved the spoon menacingly at Grillby.

The fire elemental made a gesture that seemed to imply he was fine, a sharp crackle following it.  Taking seat at the opposite end of the table, he cautiously removed his niece from the bag, rolling the egg over slowly in his warm hands to search for any new damage.  The soul in the egg threw itself at his hands, following them urgently as they soothed over the egg shell.  Monsters healed miraculously fast, less than a day ago Grillby was only a few minutes from falling down.  Now he was healed enough to be on his feet, but not enough to have any spare magic to give the child.  Not without hurting himself further.

You quickly finished the tea, hissing as the hot liquid caused your throat to burst into painful scratches.  Slamming the mug back into the table, you approached Gerson with a hand held out for the spoon.  You needed anything that would take you away from the angry fire elemental, even if it was only on the other side of the kitchen.  You could hardly blame Grillby for being upset though - you were a strange human handling his last living family member -- not exactly something to bring him comfort.  Focusing on cooking, you found the oatmeal was half cooked, at this point it was bland and tasteless.  Bbut food was food.  You had no sugar or butter to add to it, hell you didn’t even have milk, and experimental cooking always lead to disaster in this kitchen.  Trying to improve the flavor would result in _waaaay_ too much of whatever you put in.  It was as if you wouldn’t learn a lesson until you overshot the target by a mile.

You could recall the last time you tried to invent a recipe.  There had been blasted bits of burned food all over the ceiling.  Lesson learned.  Follow recipes to the letter.

“That looks… less than appetizing.”  Gerson said, peering around your shoulder at the glue-like mixture of porridge.  

Shrugging in response, you pulled a copper skillet down from above the hearth and placed it over the fire as well.  Once warmed, you cracked an egg into the sizzling skillet, then hesitated and you pointed at Gerson and then at the skillet with the egg cooking inside.

The tortoise was exceptionally good at charade guesses.  “Nah, I don’t need any.  Might make some for the great flamin idjit over there, and the Puffball Prince.”

Grillby didn’t take much offense at the friendly insult, his flames only firing up slightly out of principle.  His full attention was on the monster egg in his hands, he didn’t seem to have the capacity to focus on anything else at the moment.

You cracked three more eggs over the skillet, adding one in for Nibs as well.  It felt odd to be cooking a breakfast as the sun went down.  You were used to being up as the sun rose, having a spartan breakfast of bread with a fried egg and thin slices of salami.  Then you would set a stew to simmer slowly while you worked, the easiest and least skill required was making stew.  It was impossible to mess up a stew… but your brain, being the ignoble ass it was, reminded you of the time you returned to find a impossibly half cooked _and_ overcooked concoction of meat and vegetables at one point.  

The logic of cooking eluded you.

The end result of your cooking was a porridge that was more like sticky gruel than oatmeal.  You knew trying to add more water would instantly change it into a soup… you decided you liked gruel better than oat soup.  At least the eggs were done without burning them.  Getting Gerson’s attention was easy, you already had it.  The tortoise was watching you cook with a half interested, half horrified expression.  You gestured to the barn outside, then pointed at the two empty spots for Nibs and Asgore as you put the plates down and ready for them.

“I have a feeling Prince Puffball is goin’ ta still be sleepin’, but I’ll go rouse yer boys.”  Gerson cackled, shuffling out of the kitchen.

Sliding one plate to each place at the table, and cautiously pushing one in front of Grillby as well, you took your seat again.  Emptying the kettle, you poured yourself a fresh cup of hot water… in the mostly expended tea leaves.  That was it for tea as well now.  The next five days were going to be… an ordeal.  

Food is food, just eat it.  With that thought buzzing around your head, you took a long drink of the weak tea and struggled to keep from coughing as the fire in your throat burned all the hotter.

“You.”

Looking up, it took you a minute to realize Grillby had spoken.  His voice sounded as awful as yours, like two sandstone slabs being rubbed together.

“Me.” You rasped back, unsure what to say.  Had he been asking if you were ok, or threatening you?  Then you shrugged.

“You...r,” He tried again, “cooking is awful.”  Grillby pointed to the plate of porridge, which was holding its shape in a way that porridge never should be able to.

Laughing at someone’s insults was probably rude, so instead you broke into a coughing fit.  “Wow.  Rude.”  You managed, looking not half as offended as the insult demanded.  When someone speaks the truth, you generally have to agree with them.  Your efforts for trying to talk, however, caused jagged spikes of pain in your throat.  Steeling yourself, you took a bite of the porridge, hoping to smother the stinging pain.

Well, it worked, the thick gruel smothered the itch in your throat… but now everything tasted like gritty sand and oats.  Saliva started to build up as you tried to swallow the unappetizing paste, but you were barely able to choke it down.  Even if the oatmeal had been swimming in sugar, you doubted it could have made a difference.  Wow, Grillby was right, you were _awful_ at cooking today.

Giving up on the porridge, you found your gaze drawn back to the monster egg.  Grillby was covering the crack with one hand, either to try and hold magic in or because it depressed him to see the damage.  How do you hold a conversation with someone when neither of you were able to speak without pain?  Had Gerson told him that you were going to be a surrogate for the egg until the refugees reached Home?  Well, you supposed you could always check him.  Grillby would be instantly aware he had been checked, plus you’d at least get a vague understanding of what he was feeling.  But… it was so rude.  Digging into someone’s inner being just to see how they were doing… it felt wrong.  You had been taught it was lewd and worse than peeping on someone.

Then again… Grillby had checked you earlier.  Gerson had checked you several times already.  Was it really not rude to monsters?

Fiddling with the half finished meal, it took you a few moments to find your courage to do the check… and then lost it again.  You were a coward, that’s just how it was.  You would always retreat from a battle if given the choice, it wasn’t in your nature to be bold or outgoing.  Your nature was to be solitary.  Gerson’s attempt at guessing your soul’s nature was just that: a guess.  Living in isolation probably did make your aspect _constipated_ … god dammit, that was the stupidest word ever.  No, you were done describing your magic as _constipated_ .  From now on, your magic was in _dire need of fiber..._ and… that really didn’t help it sound any less stupid.

The _check_ that hit you blindsided you.  You jerked away in embarrassment, face flushing red. You had been so concentrated on destroying the fried egg that you hadn’t noticed when Grillby moved his attention back to you.  You could only imagine what your status was… coward… cannot cook… thinks checking is extremely rude… any of those were possible.  But sometimes checking brought up the most random facts about someone as to not actually be helpful in any way.

After a moment, Grillby realized you weren’t going to check back.  His brows drew down and his flames split wide across his face giving him a deep frown.  He gestured broadly, one hand pointing from you to himself.

You shook your head.  Nope.  Nope, you weren’t going to check back.  Not even.  

So Grillby checked you again.

You grunted, flinching again at the sensation. You aimed a swat at him, the swing missing but fingers passing through some of the curling flame at his bare arm.  The fire didn’t burn you, but it was _hot_ , like trying to pull bricks from the kiln.  He wasn’t that hot when you shook his hand earlier… could he vary his temperature?

Grillby _checked_ you again.

“Stop.”  You pushed up from the chair, shaking off the crawling feeling of magic.

Another _check_.  Two in a row, now.  The asshole was doing this on purpose, he could clearly see you didn’t like this.  Was he trying to bait you into checking back, or into seeing where your breaking point was in using magic?

Jokes on him, then.  You simply left the room.  There was a hiss and pop from the elemental as you left, followed by one last _check_ that effectively chased you from the kitchen.  With breakfast (dinner?) growing cold, you padded to the door and pulled on a pair of lightweight slippers instead of your heavy work boots and pushed out into the cold air.  Monsters milled around the yard, soaking in the last rays of sun of the day as you splashed through small puddles on the way to the barn.

“I don’t wanna!”  Asgore’s voice could be heard in a sharp whine.

“Boy, if yeh don’t get up and eat, I’m sure everything will be cold… and I’ll still make yeh eat it anyway.”  Gerson was trying to muscle the monstrous prince out of the bale of hay.  However Asgore had a good two feet of height on the captain, and was making the best use of it by going boneless and becoming hard to pick up.  Leaning against the barn door, you gave a whistle to catch their attention.  Asgore’s fluffy white ears bounced at the sharp noise and he lifted his head out of the hay bale.  He chirped your name, giving you a sleepy grin.  The kid gave a long yawn, reaching one paw out for you with sleepy eyes.

Pushing off the door, you walked up to the drowsy monster and took his paw, squeezing his fingers with your small hand.  Smiling, you gave a steady, strong tug that almost dragged him out of the hay if he hadn’t braced himself.

“Nooo, I want sleep.”

Shaking your head, you said, “Eat.” Your throat didn’t like that much, twinging.

Asgore looked up in alarm, “You don’t sound good.”

Wincing, realizing you’d have to speak again to give him an answer, you coughed to clear your throat first.  “Sick.  I’ll be better, tomorrow,” you said, simply, as pain scraped your throat.

Asgore glanced to Gerson for reassurance.  The tortoise nodded.  “It’s a human thing.  They get sick fer no reason, and heal with no help.  But yeh need ta eat somethin’, boyo.  Com’mon, up.”  Reaching out, Gerson got ahold of Asgore’s other paw, dragging him from the hay finally.

You gave Asgore’s shoulder a gentle pat before going to wake Nibs.  The rabbit had burrowed into bale of straw under a burlap sack.  At your touch, one of Nib’s ears twitched, and his eyes cracked open.  The monster gave a grunt of acknowledgement, and pushed himself to a sitting position with sleepy eyes.

As Asgore and Nibs rubbed the sleep from their eyes with heavy paws, your gaze fell on the wagon and oxen.  The wagon was prepped and in good shape pending your trip with the caravan.  Wouldn’t it be a small matter to put the injured monsters on it and haul them up the mountain to Home?  When they caravan arrived in five days, everyone _had_ to be gone.  If even one monster was here, the humans in the caravan would send out an alarm… it would be like last night all over again.

Only with witch hunters added in.

You felt a gentle check that caused goosebumps to break over your arms.  What was it with these new monsters and checking you?  Nibs never checked you!...  Was it because they were treating you like a mage… or like a monster?  You aimed a glare at Gerson.

Gerson was giving you a steady look, one that suggested he had gotten more info than he knew what to do with in that last check.  Noticing your glare, he quickly snapped back to attention and started rounding up Asgore.  “Right boyo.  So in the meanwhile, yeh got ta go inside, eat somethin’, then yeh ken go back ta bed.  Just… try not ta taste yer food.”

Asgore cocked his head, floppy ears flapping slightly.  “What’s that mean?”

You flushed red.  It wasn’t your fault you had almost nothing to cook with!  You try making oatmeal with JUST raw oats and water!

With Asgore padding behind you, the cloak you had tucked him in with still wrapped around his shoulders (and dangling a good two feet off the ground), and Nibs at your side, you led them back to the small cottage.  Pushing open the door, you realize three things…

  1. Slippers were easier to take off the boots (who would have thought!)
  2. Sass and sarcasm would not be able to save you from awkward silences if your voice was missing.
  3. The house smelled _amazing._



“Wow!  What’d you make for dinner?” Asgore sniffed the air, a pink tongue poking out to lick his lips.

You leaned into the kitchen, confused.  The plates of strangely gooey porridge and eggs that you had left behind were gone and cleared from the table.  The whole kitchen smelled like baking bread… which shouldn’t have been possible.  There was literally no flour, butter, or milk left in the house.  On the oven, a skillet was frying a scramble of eggs, thinly sliced meat, and rice.

And in the middle of it all stood Grillby, the satchel holding his niece’s egg still slung over one shoulder and a spatula in the other hand.

“Golly, that smells good!  I’m starving!”  Asgore shuffled under the low door frame into the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the table.

“Did you throw a dirt clod at Grillby’s head until he agreed to cook for you?”  Nibs teased, pulling out his own chair at the table.

Gerson, however, said nothing.  He cast you a glance that spoke volumes.  The tortoise had seen you cooking, he knew what it was going to turn out like. Now in the short time they had been outside, somehow Grillby had managed a whole meal.

_‘I didn’t think the eggs were that bad._ ’ You mused to yourself.  It took most of your control to remain in the kitchen, waiting for the check from Grillby to hit you.

But it didn’t.

You were instantly suspicious.

Grillby kept his attention on the hearth, moving his gaze from the loaves of bread baking in the brick oven to the skillet.  The cupboards were still stocked with many types of spices, but spices alone couldn’t make a meal.  The food smelled amazing, some kind of omelette-like pile of fluffy eggs and rice.  Opening the oven under the hearth, the smell of oatbread swept the room.  Grillby pulled out two loaves, carefully slicing them and putting the pieces back into the oven to toast.  The remaining two loaves of bread were set aside, along with small jar of preservatives found in the back of the cupboard.  You assumed it was to be delivered to the injured monsters who still needed healing.

Finally looking up, Grillby’s eyes met your own and you found yourself unable to read the elemental monster.  His expression was neutral, lacking any real features at the moment.  His flames burned with cool ripples closer to dark red than orange, and his mouth was drawn into a closed line, no expression on his face.  Gesturing to the empty seat at the table, he returned to the hearth, pulling the finished toast from the oven and piling each piece with the rice and omelette mixture.

Balking, you didn’t move from your spot.  This smelled suspicious.  Well… ok, it smelled absolutely delicious, but you sensed ulterior motives all over the kitchen.  Either Grillby was embarrassed by your attempt at cooking with minimal ingredients (which was kind of sad on your part), or he was apologizing for being an ass for repeatedly checking you.  And if it was the last thing… you weren’t going to accept this pity meal.  Whatever the elemental had learned during those checks, at least one must have caused him to grow some empathy.

Moving to leave the kitchen, Gerson’s paw caught your wrist and held fast.  “Nope.  Have yerself a sit here.  If yer goin’ ta be helpin’ that lil spark, ye’ll be needing all the energy yeh can get.”  

The words caught Nibs’ attention, and he looked up from his plate.  “You’re helping that damaged egg?”

You went rigid.  You were certain your heart had dropped to the vicinity of your guts. _‘Please, he can’t know.  He can’t know!’_ Your mind whirled, reaching for some reasonable lie or believable half-truth.

“She’s a good momma!”  Asgore blurted suddenly, mouth half full of egg.  “She can do… um… momma things.  So the egg gets love.”  Looking over at Nibs, Asgore realized he sounded a bit strange, so he tried to clarify… accent on _tried._ “I mean, she loves me, I know she’s a good mom.”

You went absolutely crimson in the face, both hands cupping your cheeks as your ears and neck flushed red as well.  Your fingers weren’t enough to stop the tears that started burning either.  More than anything else, you wanted Asgore to be safe, not to know the awful things humans were capable of.  You wanted him to be a kid for just a bit longer.  A distressed whine escaped from you, and you moved to catch Asgore in a hug, your face lost in his fluffy white fur.

A check hit you.

Two checks?

Three… different… checks?

Asgore, suddenly burst into tears as well.  The kid clung to your tunic, his food forgotten as he cried twice as loud as you did.  You got the feeling the kid suddenly got the full view of how much you cared for the little guy.

“Yeh two… yeh’ve done enough crying for a month between tha two of yeh!”  Gerson sighed.  “Finish yer sobbin, eat yer food, then go back ta bed.  Stars know you blubberin’ fools need it.”

A warm hand fell on your shoulder, pushing you gently towards the empty chair next to Asgore.  Tears made everything blurry and clung to your lashes. You fell heavily onto the chair with Asgore still clinging to your tunic.  Fingers made of flame pulled away and your magic prickled under your skin.  A plate of hot food was left in front of you, as well as a steaming mug of… ginger?  It seemed to be the remaining tea leaf dust combined with grated ginger, and it smelled wonderful.  When you took a cautious drink the warm ginger didn’t burn as it went down, but caused the itch in your throat to fade.

Pulling his chair to rest next to yours, Asgore leaned against your arm as he ate.  His own tears dried quickly, replaced by a wide happy grin as he ate.  Ever few bites, he would lean down and bunting his forehead gently against your own head or nuzzle against your shoulder.  You responded by cuddling the six foot tall child, your fingers combing through his blond mane.  It didn’t take much food for Asgore to be full, and Grillby had prepared far too much.  As stealthily as a bull moose parading through a library, Asgore tried to sneak some of his food onto your plate.  You scolded him the first time, pretended not to see it the second time, and distracted him with a cuddle before he could do it a third.

Even as you finished the plate, Grillby suddenly dropped another portion on both yours and Asgore’s plate.  Clearly the kid didn’t need to eat as much as a human, he ate what he needed and then proceeded to play with his fork, balancing it on the end of his snout.  You on the other hand, demolished the second plate just as fast as the first.  Humans ate a _lot_ compared to monsters, they had to get the energy somewhere after all.  Gerson seemed bewildered at the amount of food you could eat, one bushy eyebrow arched halfway up his forehead in mystified awe.

Sopping up some of the leftover egg with your bread, you finish off the plate and feel pleasantly full and exhausted.   _‘I have a feeling this was probably supposed to be a peace offering.  Was it an apology meal for all those checks, or is this ‘payment’ for giving magic to his niece?’_  Grillby had returned to the cooktop, portioning out the remaining meal to go to several of the monsters still recovering from their injuries.  The sleeves of his tunic were rolled up past the elbow and he had loosened the collar to hang open.  Even with ash smudged on his under armor, the clothing seemed to suit him more than the heavy armor.  He appeared… more comfortable.

“Bird, I have no idea where you just put all that.” Gerson was looking you over, seeming to expect a second stomach to have unfolded from somewhere.  You realized you had been staring at Grillby.  You could only hope that Gerson wrote it off as the vacant stare of someone who was well fed and exhausted.

You shrug off the tortoise’s awestruck stare, “It’s good,” which was really all the reason you needed give.  And the truth.  “Thanks, needed that.” You sighed, enjoying the feeling of being warm.


	11. ...based on the best of intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to have to push the Saturday release to Sunday, as the 'back date' system won't allow you to release at set times. DISAPPOINTED. So instead, have two huge chapters!

A plate of the grey goop along with a egg over easy was placed in front of Grillby. With all the liquor he had consumed earlier, Grillby wasn’t the least bit hungry. Hungover, yes. But not willing to try and eat this ‘food’. You were making a valiant attempt at eating your own cooking out of some desperate desire to recover magic.

“You,” Grillby’s voice choked off as he tried to speak, sparks of pain shooting through his throat to his core.

“Me,” you rasped back, sounding like you were gargling with stones. Confusion crossed your face for a heartbeat. Then you shrugged. Sassy little shit.

“You...r,” he tried again, “cooking is awful.” Grillby pointed to the plate of porridge, or whatever _that_ was.

Your tiny nose wrinkled and a crease appeared between your eyebrows, but you seemed to be smirking. “Wow. Rude,” you managed to rasp out. Giving a huff you returned to your meal, but it was so unappetizing that you clearly changed your mind about it being edible. You tried to clear your throat and swallow the gritty oatmeal, but winced at the attempt. Ah, so _that_ is what regret looks like when you try and eat it.

A thought ran through Grillby, causing his flames to shiver. You had been feeding the egg magic, even when you was so low on magic yourself. You didn’t have to keep a reserve of magic for your own survival like a monster did. You could literally devote every spark of magic to the egg. But how much magic did you have exactly?

Peering up, Grillby saw his chance to check you as you poked listlessly at the eggs, tracing the yolk into patterns on the plate.

_Lvl: 1_  
_HP: 3300/3500_  
_MGC: 5/5000_  
_AT: 90_  
_MAT: 1000_  
_DF: 20_  
_MDF: 30  
_ _Status: She regrets trying to cook._

At the check, you jerked a little and your face shifted into a red color. Odd, to monsters a check as the same as a handshake. And what the hellfire was up with your stats? MAT? MDF? A human mage had a separate attack for physical attacks and magical attacks? Grillby knew the average human were physically stronger than most monsters, and clearly it was true. But stars… that was a lot of magical attack you had. The only reason anyone would have an overly inflated stat was because you are training in it. And if you were training that skill, why were you so awful at it?

Grillby was waiting for the return check from you. It was considered polite for strangers to check each other. After a few minutes of no reaction though, he realized humans must not have that common decency.

He gestured broadly, one hand pointing from you to himself.

You gave him a frustrated look. Then shook your head, hair falling into your face. The absolute lack of manners on this human was frustrating. Didn’t you know how to greet someone?

So he checked you again, trying to force your hand out of frustration.

The status were mostly the same… mostly.

_MGC: 6/5000  
_ _Status: She is extremely uncomfortable with checking._

A small open palm swung at Grillby. He only needed to lean back a hair for it to miss, curling through his flames harmlessly. The look of irritation on your face was plain as day: you did not like being checked. The change in the magic stat had drew Grillby’s attention though. Were you really recovering magic that fast from eating some really crappy food and an awkward sleep on an uncomfortable sofa? It took _days_ for monsters to regain magic without eating magical food.

Your HP hadn’t changed since the last check, only magic. Another check confirmed it.

_MGC: 7/5000  
_ _Status: She was trained not to check, it is considered rude for mages._

“Stop.” Gray eyes glared into Grillby, barred teeth were visible all the way to your canines in a grimace, and you looked ready to lash out with more than just an open palm swat. Panic was flickering under your glare though. You did not like magic. You didn’t like using magic nor having it used on you.

There was only a slight hesitation before Grillby checked you again. It was a stupid thing to do. True, your magic couldn’t hurt him back, but if you threw yourself over the table to punch him, that would certainly hurt … or could damage his niece further. Not to mention you had enough muscle that you could probably floor him in a single hit.

You winced at the check.

_MGC: 9/5000  
_ _Status: She can only use fire magic_

Immediately, he threw another check at you. Was it even possible for magic to regenerate that fast? It had to be wrong.

_MGC: 12/5000+  
_ _Status: She will always flee from confrontation over fighting._

A pip had appeared by her magic stat, indicating you were recovering magic even faster. Was it rage that made your mana recovery spike, or simply any strong emotion? The status update came a moment too late. You had already shoved to your feet and made for the kitchen door.

Grillby never knew why he checked you one last time as you left. It was obvious you didn’t like the action, something about being checked put you on edge. But he did it anyway.

_MGC: 20/5000+  
_ _Status: She doesn’t think it’s fair you got to keep your child, and she couldn’t save hers._

Anger clearly had its claws in you, and with that came increased mana regeneration. But with that came a status that made Grillby regret that last check. It told him more about you than he wanted to know. It reminded him that he was a giant asshole at times.

And now logic finally settled on Grillby, that he had made a mage extremely uncomfortable. Antagonizing humans was a bad idea but doing it to mages seemed like a death wish. But you had chosen to flee rather than enter a confrontation. True, it as over something as simple as being checked, but that didn’t mean you deserved to be harassed like that. You had wiped out the threat to Asgore without hesitation to keep him safe, allowed injured monsters to be kept in your house until help arrived, and emptied out your supply of liquor to keep him from burning out. You had even drained your mana to stop his nightmares and keep his niece from dying.

And he repaid it by being an asshole.

“Shit.” Grillby hissed, the pain of speaking scratching his throat.

Resting his niece back in her bag, he gazed at the damaged crack and the weak soul fluttering within. His thoughts grew muddled again. Instead of green fire, all he saw was blue. He couldn’t look at his niece without seeing his sister. He couldn’t care for the kid without remembering the murders.

Grillby found himself pacing the kitchen. He had to focus on getting his niece the only thing he couldn’t provide at the moment… magic. Everyone taking refuge on the farm was completely tapped out, including the healers. Only the guards had any magic worth sparing, and it wasn’t safe for their only defenders to run out of magic as well. But the mage… if you could recover magic while riding a high from rage, could you regain it just as fast from other emotions too? What if you managed to get a decent meal and a full night’s sleep?

Idly, he carried the plates of rapidly cooling… oat-gel, to the waste bin and dumped it. No need to inflict _that_ on the prince, or anyone else. The bag of oats on the floor was half full of plain, boring oats. However there was also the a variety of spices, seasonings, and dried meat in the cupboard. There might not be a lot to cook with, but if he made a _lot_ of substitutions, and sacrificed a spark or two of his own magic to cover what couldn’t be substituted, he might be able to make something that would be a good start to an apology.

The hearth had a few old fire spells dormant in it, held over from some attempt you had made trying to cook with them rather recently. Human mages were so sloppy with their magic, like they simply didn’t care just how much they were wasting. However, it was his gain, an active spell meant he didn’t actually have to use any of his own magic to cook with. Grillby simply reached out and gave the spell a nudge, the fire roaring to life and becoming far more intuitive than any cookfire could be.

Mixing everything together, it took only a few minutes to finish the bread mixture, substituting a spark of magic for the missing yeast, and another for the flour. The action left him shuddering, his core aching from the effort. Probably not the wisest choice of action to be using magic he didn’t have on the substitute. Without needing to let the bread rise now due to magic, Grillby dropped four portions of dough into four round pans and pushed them into the hearth oven. Activating the fire spell on the hearth again, he amplified the temperature and sacrificed speed to cook faster.

Sure, it’s not how cooking logically should work. But this was magic - it does what it wants. If you want to cook something at 400 degrees for for 10 minutes, or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute… you could. Assuming you had enough magic to support the spell. Otherwise, you’re just burning your meal (and your house down). The end result was four perfectly baked loaves of bread that just needed to sit a bit longer. A root of ginger was found in the bottom of a drawer, perfect for ginger tea. While the water heated, Grillby made quick work grating it into shreds and tossing it into the kettle. You seemed to enjoy tea made with dried leaves, but the canisters of tea were all empty now. Monsters preferred tea made from ginger. Hopefully it wasn’t too strange for humans to drink ginger tea.

“Golly, that smells good! I’m starving!” The prince’s voice rang through the house. Grillby stood a bit straighter as he heard paws (and strangely soft feet) clomp into the kitchen. Even with his back turned, he could sense the unease as you entered the kitchen. When he peered over his shoulder, he could see just how uncomfortable you were in the room. You wanted to flee but you also were drawn by the food, leaving you unsure what to do. The moment Asgore and Nibs took a seat at the table, the flight instinct seemed to win over fight. You shifted towards the door to leave.

If you didn’t eat, you wouldn’t regain magic as quickly as needed. His niece’s life literally depended on this stubborn mage eating dinner. Grillby pushed away from the hearth, hoping to catch you before you left the house.

As it ended up, he didn’t have to go far, Gerson had the same thought. The tortoise monster closed a paw around your wrist, and you stopped in your tracks. “Nope. Have yerself a sit here. If yer goin’ ta be helpin’ that lil spark, ye’ll be needing all the energy yeh can get.”

Even as you seemed to consider this, the rabbit monster spoke up, “You’re helping that damaged egg?”

Where Gerson’s words made you pause and consider staying, Nib’s words seemed to have the opposite effect. Gray eyes widened, and you went stiff. You seemed so … anxious. Grillby had to wonder if the silence Gerson was paying for in exchange for your help was to keep Nibs in the dark.

The prince jumped to your defence. “She’s a good momma! She can do… um… momma things. So the egg gets love.” Asgore rambled, but… it was a clever bluff. His voice grew a bit quieter now, “I mean, she loves me, I know she’s a good mom.”

How strange. It was as if you nearly burst into flame… no wait, you didn’t burn, but your skin changed color to a soft pink and then bright red. You had managed to change color down to even the tips of your ears. Giving a soft choke of emotion, you clapped both of your hands over your face and your shoulders hunched in. Grillby could see you grit your teeth in as you tried to keep from making any sound, but it ended when you gave a quivering breath that ended with a sob. Reaching out, you curled both of your arms around the prince’s shoulders, pulling them together as you tried to mute your crying.

The room was shocked. Gerson half pushed up from the table in alarm, and Nibs had both his ears drooping in distress. Grillby felt like the worst scum on the mountain… but checked you again.

_MGC: 80/5000++  
_ _Status: She loves Asgore very much._

Asgore suddenly burst into tears, fat tears rolling through his fur and his childish mewling only spurring you to rock the monster kid gently in your arms.

Grillby was beside himself. He had guessed that Asgore saw you as a surrogate mother figure, he had even guessed that you cared for Asgore too… but he had suspected it was out of concern or obligation towards him. But a check cannot lie. In the span of a week you had learned to love this kid. And the two pips beside your magic stat only seemed to prove that a strong positive emotion caused your magic levels to soar. For as long as you were next to that kid, your mana would recover at an impossible pace.

Mages were terrifying.

“Yeh two… ye’ve done enough crying for a month between tha two of yeh!” Gerson sighed. “Finish yer sobbin, eat yer food, then go back ta bed.” The captain was flustered, a dull bronze color rose on his face as he turned his head away from the two of them.

Everyone seemed ashamed to watch the monster and mage clinging to each other, as if they were watching a private reunion. Nibs politely turning his attention to his plate. Gerson was leaning against the door frame watching the hall, effectively blocking anyone from entering the kitchen if they suddenly burst into the house. Grillby could only stand there, feeling like a dense brick of coal. He had been _less_ rude to you when he was blackout drunk than he had when he had been _trying_ to treat you like a fellow monster by checking. You weren’t a monster though, it wasn’t fair to try and make you act like one to put them at ease.

You were just a woman who whose most base instinct was to mother children. The magic you had didn’t change who you were.

Gently, as not to startle you, Grillby pressed a hand on your shoulder and guided you to the kitchen chair. You flopped into the chair, tears still glittering on your cheeks and Asgore in turn returned to his seat next to you as he wiped at the tears on his fur. Grillby pretended not to notice, leaving both of them with as much privacy as he could. Retrieving a plate of food and a steaming mug of ginger tea, he pushed them in front of you. You almost didn’t notice as you soothed Asgore for a few more moments. By the time you realized there was food, any reservations you had about eating seemed to be gone.

With chairs bumped together, shoulder to shoulder, you and Asgore quickly tore into the dinner with gusto. You took a special delight with the tea, exhaling a cloud of steam in relief as the ginger soothed. Magic laced bread wasn’t strong enough to do much healing, but a good hot meal and a little magic can go a long way. Tears dried quickly as the pair finished their meal, Asgore leaning down to gently bunt his forehead into your shoulder, and you reached up to comb your fingers through the kids’ blond mane.

They looked … happy.

Grillby felt a tight coil in his core, one that hadn’t healed, one that was still raw and bleeding. Only a week ago, that happiness was him with his sister and family. Gathering the dishes instead of continuing that thought, he pulled the dirty plates to the counter and stacked them neatly near the sink. Washing dishes wasn’t really something he could do.

“Little bird, I have no idea where you just put all that.” Gerson sounded like he had just witnessed Grillby drinking an entire bottle of vodka in a single go: horrified and awed. Peering over his shoulder, Grillby saw why. You had finished off your second plate of food. Of _magically bolstered_ food. That should have been enough to top off even the hungriest monster, but apparently the super ‘stuff’ filled human had been starving.

“It’s good. Thanks, needed that.” Your voice was now a sleepy purr. The answer was short, and it was the truth, but somehow hearing you acknowledge it felt… like you had paid him a much more flattering compliment. He’d been stand-offish and rude to you, and still you held your neutrality and _thanked_ him.

Why was a mage a better person than him?

Gerson peered out of the window, spotting something moving in the yard. “New hounds arrived.”

Nibs perked up, “Ah, that’ll be the wagon from Home. Glad they made it before the dark set in. They should have some spare supplies brought down too.” The rabbit bounced to his feet, “I’ll go do a check, be back shortly, bird.” Turning out of the kitchen before you could clear your throat to speak, Nibs vanished into the hall and the door closed behind him.

“Wagon already?” Your voice was no longer that sandpaper snarl, but a honey soft sound. Attempting to speak did still cause you to wince though.

“Aye, extra guards too. That Nibs called in a full force o’ support. Guards, healers, wagon… and a friendly neighbor. Maybe this _Home_ isn’t so bad… other than tha name.”

“Hey… I named it.” Asgore pouted.

Russet hair fell over cool gray eyes as you gave Gerson a sharp look that said you were very disappointed in him for saying that. Gerson, in turn, nearly withdrew into his shell under the glare. You were very intimidating when you said nothing and wore the scowl like a shield.

Grillby almost didn’t feel the small soul at his side flickering when she started gently calling out. Her voice was so soft, like a sound from far down the mountain trying to reach the top. By the time Grillby heard her call, the mage and Gerson had heard it as well.

“Didn’t the kid just eat?” Gerson raised an eyebrow. “Is the lil spark losin’ magic that fast, or is she askin’ fer attention?”

Reaching into the bag, Grillby pulled the green glowing egg out. A check revealed the soul inside to hungry. While a few sparks of magic might quiet the soul down, what she really wanted was love.

He… could try at least. Just the emotion of love was needed, to show his niece he cared about her. And he did, stars did he truly care. He was worried she wouldn’t get enough magic to grow. He was worried the crack couldn’t be fixed and she would spend the next year being hungry. He was worried she wouldn’t --

Grillby couldn’t do it. All he could manage was concern and fear. Even at his most optimistic, trying to peer ahead to when the egg would hatch some day, all he saw was his sister’s blue fire. He was so caught up in the moment and still half expecting a second attack to hit at any moment that he couldn’t see his niece as anything but an egg.

There was a soft sound of someone clearing their throat; you were right in front of him as if you teleported. Blinking sparks out of his eyes, Grillby wasn’t sure when you had gotten to your feet. You had both hands held out, silently asking for the egg. You had certainly regained enough magic to give the soul the few sparks they needed, and you did love Asgore like a son… maybe that love could transfer over? It was worth a shot. Gingerly, Grillby placed his niece in your waiting palms, making sure your fingers closed around the shell before he pulled away.

“Shhh, little one, shhh,” you hushed, your voice a whisper. Magic started in a slow trickle, a few choice sparks pulled in by the soul before she would take no more magic. You continued to murmur to the egg though, the green fire in the shell churning into bright diamonds of light.

He knew he’d regret this. It was a stupid idea. But he had no better way to do this. Reaching forward, touching your shoulder with his knuckle, he hoped it was enough of a warning before he checked you.

_MGC: 110/5000  
_ _Status: She is concerned for this egg._

You winced at the check, your soft murmuring interrupted for a moment as your shoulders tightened. After an unsteady breath, you continued to speak to the egg.

It was unfortunately what Grillby had been expecting. The double set of pips that showed love towards Asgore were not present when interacting with his niece. The mage felt only compassion to the egg, not love. Even if you loved the little spark as you loved Asgore, he wasn’t sure that the soul could even get your love. You were, after all, a human.

Someone at Home would know what to do. Someone at home _had to_ know what to do. Leaving the kitchen, Grillby paused as he passed by you. Hesitating, one hand half lifted in indecision, he leaned down to pat you on the shoulder. “Sleep,” his rasped, his flames casting a warm glow against pale skin. Even as you turned to look up at him, he left. And he left his niece in your arms.

‘ _Best to leave the kid where she’ll be able to get some help through the night.’_ Grillby thought, a cool depression soaking into his core. He knew he wasn’t helping the egg any way, in magic or in love. Taking the spot against the wall near the sofa, Grillby leaned back against the cool tile. From the kitchen, he could hear Gerson’s deep rumble as he spoke, Asgore’s youthful chirp answering in response, and much less often the soft hum of the your healing voice. The conversation didn’t last long, just enough to discuss the plans for moving the wagons up the mountain.

Feigning sleep, Grillby could hear the group exit the house, all heading to the barn for sleep. No… not all. A soft padding against stone approached the half-sofa, dumping heavy fabric against the floor and pushing it under the furniture. Another pile of fabric was set at the ground near his feet, this time with much more care. Wood creaked softly and stuffed cushions puffed as the occupant dropped onto the furniture.

After that, silence and steady breathing like a small bellows pumping. Grillby knew who it was though. Opening one eye, he was met with you curled onto the sofa, somehow folding in to make your lanky limbs fit. Lying belly down, you had one arm curled around your face, and the other limp off the edge of the sofa. The egg-bag had been placed at his feet, in easy reach if the soul inside started calling in the night.

“Wake me, if she needs anything,” you said, voice drowsy and rolling. Grillby jolted, small tongues of flame firing up from his shoulders in surprise. Still, your eyes remained closed, and your breathing even. Humans were so confusing… how could you tell when they were really asleep? Actually, in that vein, how’d you know he was still awake?

Scooping up the bag and holding it to his chest, he could feel the soul within stir for a moment before settling back down. Just a few more hours and they’d depart for Home. They had a force three times as large as when they started climbing the mountain now, fresh guards, and were now to be accompanied by a mage. This was the safest they had been since fleeing the riverlands. But still, sleep did not come easily. An hour passed, or maybe a few hours, time didn’t seem to flow right in the dark of night.

His niece became hungry before he managed to find sleep. The soul called quietly, first to him, then to the mage. You were lost in sleep though, your breathing rhythmic and slow. Reaching out and taking a hold of the hand that was hanging off the edge of the sofa, Grillby checked you awake.

_MGC: 940/5000  
_ _Status: … there were no dreams tonight._

Giving a groan, you reached up and pawed at your face with a palm and then stretched, the fingers curling into a claws and then flexing wide as you yawned. Grillby was struck with the urge to yawn himself, exhausted and stiff from his spot against the wall.

“Egg?” Your voice seemed like the rumble of a fire.

Nodding, Grillby held up his niece, the soul starting to dance in anticipation.

Nodding back, you made a lazy swipe of your face one last time before reaching out and resting your palm on the egg in his hands. Venting your magic, the soul took what it needed into the egg, the rest of the sparks tingling over Grillby’s arms. Stiffening in surprise, he felt his flames curl and dance without his permission. The last few injuries under his fire sealed up leaving his embers bright. In less than a day, he had gone from death’s grasp to completely healed due to you (and your copious amounts of liquor).

“Shh shh, little spark. It’ll be fine. You can do it.” Your voice was a rolling song now, fingers barely moving as you stroked the egg. It might not be love, but you were filled with an emotion other than despair and fear. It was hope.

The soul settled down, bumping into your fingertips through the egg. Slowly, your hand stopped moving, and your breathing became slower and and some point you drifted off. Grillby held the egg like this for a while longer, the green light dancing in the egg dwindling to a glow as the soul fell into a easy slumber as well. Lifting your hand from the egg, he tucked it back against your face where it had been earlier. You gave only a soft snuffle at the movement, eyelids fluttering, but did not wake. Returning his niece to her bag, the egg was swaddled in cloth and he held it against his chest.

Sleep swayed over him and he found himself leaning sideways, resting against the sofa. If he opened his eyes, he’d be looking down at you. If he moved his hands from the bag, they’d be resting against your own arm. Weren’t you overheating at being so close to him, or did you actively seek him out as the warmest thing in the area now that the kiln was extinguished?

‘ _Good night.’_ Grillby thought, fingers twitching against the bag. There was a short flutter from the soul in the bag.

There was also a gentle hum of magic from you as you did not dream.

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

The day started early. _Really_ early. You were used to being up at dawn to start working on bricks, but the monsters were up and loading the wagons before the sun even considered peeking over the horizon. There were three wagons: the battered salvaged wagon the refugees had brought up, more like a rickshaw and meant to be pulled by people. There was also the one brought down from Home, pulled by a team of two draft horses. It was clearly too fine a wagon for cargo, it was meant for people, and judging by the carving and paint on it, it was meant for the _king._ Your own wagon was meant for heavy weight, and had the widest cargo bay. Someone had nailed a lattice across the top and stretched an canvas over it, and it was now the largest covered wagon, able to hold the most injured of the monsters without them getting wet.

And the forecast of the day was going to be wet.

_Someone_ had made breakfast, a hearty meal of oatmeal (not oat-glue!) with raisins and cinnamon, and another batch of oatbread. Grillby drew attention cooking said breakfast so you had a moment of privacy to feed the hungry soul a few sparks of magic while everyone else was getting breakfast. You supposed it made sense that a fire elemental would be good at cooking, but wow, he was an _unfair_ amount of good at it. Had you been more focused on how he managed it you had to swear magic went into every part of cooking, and not just the actual baking.

Refugees were loaded into the wagons after a hot breakfast, most of them promptly dozing and huddling under blankets and piles of straw. The wagon from Home lead the way, followed by the refugee’s rickshaw, then your own cart as it rambled up the road. The hounds protected the wagons from the back, while scouts like Nibs checked the road for any incoming threats. It promised to be an uneventful, though boring and soggy, trip.

Clouds fuzzed the horizon, and rain started after only an hour on the road. Gentle rain drops spattered the caravan changed into a torrential downpour as you ascended the mountain. Grillby hunched under the canvas in the back of your wagon, his shoulders tight at the sound of the rain. The canvas canopy was not waterproof by any stretch of the imagination, but it did deflect most of the water from him, and his cloak kept him sufficiently dry.

You sat at the head of the wagon, the satchel with the monster egg resting in your lap. ‘ _She’ll need magic every few hours.’_ Gerson had reminded you at dawn. He had made it sound like this egg would need an impossible amount of energy… but somehow you were managing it. Perhaps he had underestimated just how fast mages could recover their mana. Or perhaps the crack was already mending… could monster eggs do that? For whatever reason, it didn’t feel like quite the burden it had when you first had given magic to the egg.

The small soul was loud. Well, perhaps not ‘loud’ by actual hearing terms, but insistent and determined to be notice. No one else in the wagon except Grillby seemed to notice. The little spark’s uncle perked up and glanced towards the bag when she started calling. Clicking your tongue to hasten the wagon up the road, you took a moment to pull open the bag and run a hand through the cloth until your fingers touched shell. Immediately a small thrill like butterfly wings fluttering met your fingertips, a sensation of purring or rumbling.

“Shhhshhh, not so loud. I can hear you just fine. Shhh.” You soothed, thumbing the crack gently and surreptitiously offering a few sparks of magic so no one could see. The magic was absorbed in a heartbeat, the small soul inside grew louder and more demanding. You took it as a good sign that the monster child had such a large appetite.

The oxen started to slow down without your constant nagging. “Huphup! Pick it up, you’re lagging.” You tapped the reins against their rumps, the bull snorted and pulled a bit harder on the yolk. The wagon was starting to fall behind the other ones, the oxen were lazy and preferred to go at their own pace. You pushed them harder than they cared to go… which if they had it their way, would have been not moving at all. The oxen would just have to be unhappy with the pace you set. Unfortunately, you did have to keep reminding them to keep that pace going. Constantly. Like, every five minutes.

There was the sound of leather scraping against wood, and heavy wool fabric shifting behind you. You tensed at the sound, feeling someone move in the wagon behind you. The dance approaching of firelight was your only warning of what was going on. Grillby leaned forward, pushing out of the back of the wagon and nudged you with his shoulder. As you turned to give him a suspicious glance, he gestured towards the reins, holding out his free hand.

You raised an eyebrow at this. Yeah, you got the gist. He wanted to drive the oxen. But… why? The front of the wagon wasn’t very sheltered from the rain, and he had only _just_ managed to heal. A loud call from the egg connected the dots: he was giving you the chance to duck out of sight to make sure the spark was fine. You nodded, passing him the leather reins, and shifting back into the wagon, letting the elemental take your place. As you slipped passed him, you reached back and hooked your fingers into the hood that had pooled at his shoulders, and pulled it over his head.

Grillby popped in surprise, leaning away as his flames jumped and curled.

“Don’t get wetter than you need to,” you said as you ducked back into the wagon. It was in everyone’s best interest that he not get hurt again. Namely because you had no liquor at all to rescue him if he did something stupid. And by god, you needed a drink. You needed a drink _badly_. How you were going to go five days with no liquor? You were going to suffer, that’s what you were going to do.

In the back, most of the monsters were dozing, or peering out the back at the hounds who protected their rear. With the monsters in the wagon distracted you quickly reached into the bag and sought out the egg within. The soul was loudly crying for magic like an infant cries for a bottle. A few sparks caused the soul to fall silent, and a few more made the growing elemental flutter lazily about the shell. The white shape moved from finger to finger along the shell, bumping into each as a playing child will circle around a parent and bump into their legs. You couldn’t help a smile, gently teasing against the shell with a few more sparks. Finally, the young monster was playing with the last spark rather than absorbing it, and started calling out again. Your magic felt thin and drained, but the child wasn’t calling out for magic anymore. The soul still battered against the egg, a call that echoed deep in your own soul. There were no words to the call, just an urgent need for help.

“I think she’s calling for you, now.” Looking up from the egg at Grillby’s back, you noticed the elemental went rigid, shoulders suddenly tense. Instead of shifting back into the wagon to switch places, Grillby seemed to hunch into his cloak further, his flames vanishing under the heavy wool cloth.

You knew monster eggs needed love to grow, but from what Mays had told her that love would reach them even without being near the egg. If Grillby was sitting three feet away, and the egg was still crying for love… didn’t he love his own niece?

Biting your lower lip, you lifted the egg to your lap, gently running fingers across the shell in a soothing manner. It wouldn’t be the first time you had seen a parent spurn their child, not even the first time you had seen relatives refuse a family orphan. Mage children didn’t get to stay with their families. The sages had taken you with a few times as they collected newly awakened mages, and you had seen how cooly parents would shove their own children towards the sages, usually followed by a few words to never come home. It didn’t take much to destroy a parent's love of their own children, especially when they perceived them as ‘broken’.

“How old is she?” you peered up at Grillby, fingers rolling over the long crack in the egg.

For a moment, Grillby didn’t realize he had been spoken to, his gaze over the road was blank.

You tried again, “Hey… um… Grillby. How old is your niece?”

At his name, Grillby’s flames jolted and flickered. His vision came back into focus and he swept the road as if expecting an ambush. It took far longer than meer tiredness would account for him to get his bearings. Wiping a palm over his face in a human gesture of brushing away sleep, Grillby murmured with a deep rumble, “Nine days.”

The force of effort of keeping your jaw from falling open was a trail. “She’s… a _newborn_?” You goggled. “Oh sweetie, no wonder you were so timid. It’s ok. It’ll be better once you reach Home,” whispering a soft coo to the egg, you tucked in the crook of your arm.

“You are sure on that?” Grillby was half turned, peering down at you under the cloak.

Truthfully: No, you weren’t sure. “Well, Home has never been attacked. I’m sure humans don’t know that there is anything passed my house. And I’m not about to tell them either. So, there’s got to be some skilled healers there, right?” It was optimistic hoping, but you had always gotten by on plowing forward through anything that came your way—you could weather the rough times if there was even a glimmer of hope ahead.

The elemental tightened his hands on the reins, and then slowly nodded. Some of the tension sagged out of his shoulders, and he took a deep breath, releasing a cloud of steam.

“How’s your arm?” you asked, your eyes darting to the exposed knuckles and the strange white lines that seemed to glow under his fire.

“...it will scar, but is as healed as it will get,” he replied, tightening his hand until the white lines of his knuckles stood out even more against orange flames. It was like the fine white and silver scars humans would get after healing. You had your share of silvery healed scars across your right arm too, but where Grillby’s was caused by damage by water, yours was caused by fire.

You were a fire mage… but that didn’t make you immune to your own flames. A very painful lesson learned years ago.

Asgore’s fuzzy paws poked under the canvas cover for the wagon, peeling it back and peering through at you with wide lavender eyes. “How’s the baby doing?” he asked.

You shook your head. Magic, you could give, but the love the egg needed… no so much. You could show kindness and compassion to the egg, but forcing love was difficult… or impossible. Pulling your heavy cloak tight, a deep shiver ran along your spine as the sensation of ice coursed through your body.

“Are you alright? Need anything?” Asgore asked, noticing the shiver.

“I’m fine. I’ll just get some sleep. Is everything alright out there? Nibs is fine?”

Asgore nodded, his ears flopping. “Nibs is keeping the first wagon on course. The road is… very small here. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk beside the wagon for much longer.”

Lifting your hand to push the canvas aside. You felt the your breath freeze in your lungs as you looked out of the wagon. The road on the side fell sharply away, leading into a deep ravine. Asgore was walking along the very edge of that fall, the wagon taking up most of the road. Giving a squeak of alarm, one of your hands shot out and grasped Asgore’s paw.

“P-please get in the we-wagon,” you stammered, eyes wide as they slowly dropped to the edge of the road.

“What is it?” Asgore blinked in confusion, looking to his left where the edge of the road suddenly ended with a steep drop. His paw tightened on your hand and as gently as a hug you felt a _check_. It wasn’t intrusive or as unwelcome as the other checks had been. This one felt… caring.

Asgore was at a loss for a moment, concern pulling his furry face into a frown. Pushing himself forward, shoving his upper body into the wagon and trying to pull himself in, Asgore got two furry arms around the your shoulders, pulling you into a hug even as he dragged himself into the wagon. “It’s ok! I wasn’t going to fall!” Asgore promised.

Your heart was somewhere in your neck and you only just remembered how to breath. Despite Asgore’s earnest words… you didn’t believe him at all. The roads couldn’t be trusted here. Reaching up to grasp his cloak, you tried to calm down and shove your panic aside. Asgore was fine, he hadn’t gone over the edge, he had come in the wagon without falling… it was fine. you repeated that last line over and over in your head as you gently pet the back of the kid’s head. _He’s fine._

“Sorry for panicking like that, boyo. The edge of the road… isn’t safe. Especially not in this weather. The edge can crumble away. You’d be best not walking so close to it in the future.” You sighed, feeling the frenzy dissolve as you ran your fingers through soft fur. _He’s fine._

‘ _I’m fine.’_ The response came, echoing deep in your head from a memory years ago. You could still see your husband as he teased a lock of your hair. ‘ _You worry too much. I’ll be back by dawn.’_ But he never came home again. The roads were slick with rain and ice. You had been concerned, and very very pregnant back then. You had climbed the mountain road wrapped in a thick cloak, your pregnant belly almost too wide to be covered. You had expected to find your husband stopped along the trail with that stubborn donkey having thrown a shoe or dug in its heels in the mud.

You hadn’t expected half the road to be gone. You hadn’t expected to peer down into the ravine, and have seen a small twisted and still form at the bottom half covered in dirt. You hadn’t expected to lose your unborn baby so shortly after that, so lost in grief that you didn’t notice the signs the child in your belly was in trouble until it was too late. In a single week, you went from married with a child on the way, to alone. Life was a series of unfortunate events… and it didn’t always break even with the good and bad.

The memory was painful, it haunted your dreams for years, never fading with time. Five years should have been enough to heal the bitter scars left by most deaths. But you would not reach out for help, even when you were drowning in grief. Even now you couldn’t see this road without remembering that day.

Wasn’t that was Grillby was doing right now? He couldn’t even look at his niece without remember the night his sister was killed. How could he love the child if all he saw was a murder? Your arms tightened around Asgore as your mind raced. You learned the hard way what it was like trying to drag yourself back from that brink while rejecting all help. Looking up at Grillby, you noticed his back was rigid, stiff and uncomfortable. As if he wasn’t exactly sure what he should do with a monster and a human cuddling in the back of the wagon.

Giving a shuddering sigh, you felt Asgore curl against you and relax into your shoulder. The young monster was warm, his dense fur coat like the softest rabbit fur and the cloak over his shoulders guarding him further from any chills. The ice that numbed you at the core was slowly banished as the kid snuggled close, soft paw pads clinging to the back of your neck.

“Thank you for coming in here. I don’t much trust the roads in this weather.” You felt drowsy, both from the warmth and from the sudden hit of low magic levels.

“I was getting tired of walking.” Asgore tried to make it sound like it had been his intention the whole time. Instead, he sounded sheepish as if caught in his own lie.

You didn’t call him out on it. “Yep, the road sure is hard on the feet,” you agreed, giving him a little hand with his lie.

“Yeah! My paws aren’t used to making so many trips up and down the mountain like Nibs does.” Asgore shifted, stretching one leg out and reaching down for his paw. Soft pink paws at the bottom of his feet were scuffed and calloused, but otherwise as delicate as a kitten’s paws.

Coughing, you pulled away to cover your mouth as your tried to smother sudden laugh.

It didn’t fool Asgore at all, “What?”

Shaking your head, you reached down to pound at your chest with a fist, chasing the cough away. “Nothing!” you replied, grinning widely.

“Nu-huh! What is it? Are… my toes funny?” Asgore looked from your heavy boot to his own bare paw, suddenly self conscious.

“Boyo, your toe beans are paws-atively adorable,” chuckling, you rolled the pun deliberately for Asgore’s sake.

“Toe beans?! Puns! Noo!” Asgore howled, dramatically flopping to the floor of the wagon. “I don’t want to be cute,” he moaned.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure by the time you reach seven or eight feet tall, you’ll stop being cute… maybe.” You tucked the egg back in it’s bag, still laughing at Asgore’s shot expression at being ‘cute’ and punned at. The soul in the egg was no longer calling out, but was doing lazy circles in her shell.

Lifting the bag into your lap and pulling the cloak around yourself and the satchel, you leaned against Asgore. “I’m just going to close my eyes for a bit.”

“Ok.” Asgore nodded, pushing one arm out to stretch in the back of the wagon. He was too large to lay flat on his back like some of the smaller monsters could. So he sat half slumped, with his back against the front of the wagon and Grillby’s warmth. You leaned against his shoulder, strands of hair falling loose from the bun and tumbling down the side of your cloak. “Um… sleep well.”

“Mmnhhm,” you hummed in agreement, senses growing fuzzy as you drifted off. The dancing orange lights from Grillby’s flames were barely visible, his cloak pulled high over his head and covering most of his face. Even with your eyes closed though, you could feel warmth dance across your skin and see the bright lights behind your eyes every time the cloak slipped a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned... completely brain dead and suffering from 'family overload'. I love my family dearly... but not all of them at the same time... 70+ is too many! AND SO MANY BABIES THERE. Apparently, I spent most of the weekend herding my nephew, a first cousin twice removed who was the same age as him, and a few one year olds. They spent most of the time asking me to play with them, and the younger ones holding my braid.  
> Once de-stressed, I'll try and catch up on the backlog of writing.


	13. Chapter 13

Grillby felt his flames shiver as you murmured to the egg in the back of the wagon. You spoke as if the child could hear you… granted, the monster infant probably could. But there was no way his niece would remember anything prior to hatching. But just in hearing your voice, Grillby could sense the regret there. You didn’t treat the egg like a ‘thing’ or an object, but like a newborn child. You gently touched the shell as if smoothing over a child’s cheek, and you smiled at the egg even if it couldn’t see you.

_She doesn’t think it’s fair you got to keep your child, and she couldn’t save hers._

That check… he never should have checked you after your status warned him you didn’t like being checked. It was asking for trouble. There was a deep wound that wasn’t healing under your insistence you were fine. Maybe that’s why you had bonded so closely with Asgore. Sure, Asgore had the bright happy glitter of any monster child, but losing a parent so young leaves a mark on a child just as a parent is left forever changed by a kid’s death.

A bond of compassion is the best treatment for a damaged soul. A monster who finds someone who has suffered the same as them, they are drawn together for support. Damaged souls are naturally drawn together, to make it easier to heal from old wounds. There is no such thing as a ‘solitary monster’. A monster would literally die if on their own. What were humans souls made of to be able to live isolated from the world for five years without crumbling? How had you managed to keep going the whole time?

Grillby grit his jaw tight. He could feel... _something_ around you. Whether it was a pull of like souls, or just the familiar hum of fire magic, he didn’t know. He didn’t care, he _shouldn’t_ care. They’d barely survived running from a group of humans only to bump into one who had destroyed all the attackers as if they were nothing but moths playing with flame. Mages were too feral to trust in human society. So they took their strongest, brightest souls and lock them away like criminals and weapons.

It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair at all.

“I think she’s calling out for you, now.” Your voice pulled him from his musings, that soft rumble of your words almost lost in his own thoughts.

Grillby jerked to attention with a quick hiss between clenched teeth. He could hear his niece’s call, like an echo through his mind. It was like listening to the whimper of a lost puppy, the cry of an injured child, or the mewl of a helpless kitten. Everything about the cry was meant to reach for help to get what it needed most. But all he could hear was the whimper of pain from Chispir as she struggled in her last moments.

It wasn’t fair.

A soft hush pulled him from his memories, your voice whispering gently, “Shh shh, little spark. You aren’t alone.” It sounded like a song in your words, a lullaby without melody. It felt soothing. “We’re all tired out here. Get some rest, shhh. It’ll be better in the morning, when you’re up at Home.”

Giving a silent nod, Grillby had to agree. It _had_ to be better at Home. Monsters from across the land were gathered there. There had to be a healer who could fix the egg. Or if not, a surrogate who could help provide magic for the child. Perhaps there was enough someone up there who could help figure out how to get the child the love she needed. And the king was there. King Magore had sent a message a few months ago, that if any villagers were in danger, that they were to gather their strength together. Peace was was no longer an option. If the humans wanted a war, Magore would give them a war.

Magore’s son walked along the wagon, peering in at you happily. Grillby could hear the kid chatter at you, curious about the small egg. Like soul to like soul, Asgore was drawn to you as the mother he no longer had. Asgore looked like the king in miniature but he had far too much hope and optimism to have his father’s personality. Their prince was still very young, he might yet grow into his father’s armor...but it would be a heartbreaking thing when their prince lost his hope and trust. Peering over his shoulder, Grillby could see the young monster curled against you. The haze of sleep clouded your eyes as you started to drift in and out of consciousness. You had used a large chunk of your magic on the little spark, you were fighting exhaustion.

For a brief moment, hazy gray eyes blinked up at Grillby and you gave a groggy half smile. “Shhh, ye great sack of soot, shhh,” you mumbled and drifted off. Then magic tingled across Grillby’s back and his flames blazed high.

Had you… just tried to _stoke_ his fires? Magic rushed across his embers, a deep rumble starting at his core and working free. Heat caused orange flames to crackle red in embarrassment. Humans were mad, and mages were mad! Human mages were two kinds of madness in one shell made of ‘stuff’.

“Looking a bit ... odd there, Grill. How are yeh handling?” Gerson’s voice caused Grillby’s flames to flare a brighter red as he battled off the magic.

Giving a grunt and a puff of smoke, Grillby set the reins against the oxen to straighten them out again. Gerson was keeping pace with the lazy cattle, the heavy oak staff he used as a weapon now doubling as a walking stick. The road was narrow here, but the steep slope on the left wasn’t quite as dangerously sharp of a drop as it had been before. He felt the captain check him briefly.

Gerson sighed. “Yer lookin’ better than yeh have in days. Almost back to full HP. Good ta have yeh back on yer feet, Grill.” The ‘almost’ had Grillby wondering just how short he was though. Monsters can’t check themselves.

Gesturing to himself, Grillby managed to choke out “My HP?” before a cough had him hissing ash.

“Yer HP… took a hit, lad. Not sure it’ll be recovering anytime soon, neither.” Gerson was never one for sugarcoating his words. Losing HP meant you lost hope, sometimes it could be as simple as mourning, and other times it could be the start of depression. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Grillby appreciated the truth, no matter how much it stung.

The wind was picking up, from an annoying breeze that rippled his hood, to a biting wind that carried snowflakes. The rain was gone at least, and drifting snow did much less damage that pelting water. Sure, both were water, but if the snow was gentle enough Grillby could actually cause snow to deflect around him as it drifted away from his rising heat.

“The prince went this way earlier? Is he at the back o’ the caravan?” Gerson wouldn’t have been able to easily pass further behind the wagon without standing on the very brink of the road and letting the wagon pass by.

Gesturing into the covered wagon, Grillby drew a flap of canvas away. A dense mat of white fur was visible at the edge of the wagon, as was your strange reddish-brownish hair. The two of them were still asleep, curled together with heads touching.

Gerson chuckled. “However that kid managed ta get his paws around that human’s heart…”

Grillby cocked his head at this, his hood falling to his shoulders.

“Eh? Didn’t yeh hear Nibs earlier? That rabbit said it took ‘em five years ‘for the human ta trust ‘im as much as she does the kid. And Prince Puffball’s only known her fer a week.”

Like souls to like souls. If that wasn’t proof, then nothing was. Your damaged soul had been reaching out, and Asgore’s had answered. It worked, even on humans. The prince had forged a bond of compassion in a single week with a mage.

Shifting to pull the cloak lower over his flames, Grillby hunched his shoulders. Even with his back turned to you, he could hear the strange hum of your magic – the same pitch as his own. Something called, but it was not his niece.

 

* * *

 

You woke after only a brief doze, a few hours having restored your magic enough that you no longer felt the icy fatigue deep in your bones. Switching places with Grillby again, you took a few minutes to get your bearings. The caravan had been plodding slowly up the mountain, maybe a few hours away from the summit. The roads here was carved into the mountainside in a switchback pattern that took forever to ascend but made the path less steep. Asgore had bailed out of the wagon to catch up to Gerson, too restless to sit through the rest of the ride. He had energy he needed to burn off, and trotting up the mountain with the tortoise would certainly do that.

You didn’t really know what to make of Gerson. He clearly cared for his men, and he had the steely countenance of a commander but the jovial nature of a simple guard. You could remember the awkward conversation held in the bathroom back at your homestead. He knew more about mages than most humans did and he’d ‘bought’ your magic for his silence. Wait… wasn’t that ‘blackmail’? Was it blackmail if you didn’t mind helping? You trusted him… to a point. But you had doubts what would happen once you reached Home.

Wouldn’t it be treason if a guard didn’t tell the King about a potential threat walking into their city? Despite his word, you had the feeling that if the king wanted to know who you were, Gerson would introduce you as ‘the mage’ without a hesitation.

Maybe it would be best if you made yourself scarce after reaching Home. A visit to Mays was in order. Hiding in the rabbit’s house might be uncomfortably claustrophobic, but it’d be better than the alternative.

“Wuf!” The sound took you off-guard, your hands jerked under the cloak and tugged on the reins by accident. A puffy white dog with an ashen paw print on his head and a leather brigandine was keeping pace with the wagon.

You recognized this dog as one who had been keeping watch on the refugees and your home. That said though… you had no idea what his name was. “Oh, it’s you… um… pup.”

“WOF!” came the deep booming bark.

“Uh…yes?” You raised an eyebrow.  Dog was not your native language.  Your native language was 'swears, curses, and puns' with heavy accents leaning towards 'cathartic screaming'.

There was a slow sigh, soft crackles and pops from the back of the wagon. You could feel the sudden heat as Grillby leaned closer and spoke with a soft rumble, “He introduced himself. Irus. Sir Irus.”

Ah yes, that makes… wait… Sirius? “Did you get a lordship _just_ to have your name be a pun?” You ask Sir Irus, narrowing your eyes as you looked the monster over.

“Wuf!” Irus agreed.

“Your parents were _sirius-_ ouly planning ahead. I like them.” You admired, impressed by the amount of patience that went into that pun.

Irus wagged his tail until it became a whirlwind blur. Licking his black nose and sniffing the air, the hound focused his attention back on the road, with his gaze dragging back to the oxen more than a few times. The cattle didn’t much care about the monsters, continuing on their slow pace regardless of who was walking next to them. At this point, the cattle were even starting to ignore the tapping of the reins to keep their pace up.

“Waf! Wof wuf wof!” Irus aimed a set of barks at the oxen. The constant yap of a large dog disconcerted the cattle, and they tugged just a bit harder on their yolk to get away from the dog. Keeping pace with the oxen, Irus would give an impatient woof every once in a while, and the wagon kept it’s faster pace.

Leaning backwards, looking down at Grillby, you whispered from the corner of your mouth, “So… is he telling them off, or just …”

“Insulting their mothers.” Grillby rumbled.

“HA!” You couldn’t help it, the laugh burst out like a bark, drawing Irus’ attention. “You are a good boy.” Reaching out of the wagon, you pat the hound’s head.

This only fueled the hound on further, tail now battering the falling snow into a frenzy as he continued to woof the oxen along. The now distressed oxen finally managed to catch up to the other wagons, and Irus licked his nose again and cut back on the barking.

“I was wonderin’ if those lazy cows would catch up.” Gerson plodding along behind the rickshaw, giving it a shove whenever one of the wheels threatened to get stuck in the road. Asgore was at his side, dodging around mud and slush in the road.

“Go easy on these poor cows, they’re in a bad _moo-_ d. Sir Irus had to _bull-_ y them along. Their bovine feelings have been _udderly_ destroyed, their self-esteem is in tatters. They may never re _cow-_ ver.” You clutched a hand to your chest, fingers tangling in your cloak as you waxed over-dramatic.

“Poor cows.” Asgore slowed down to pet one of the oxen on the head. Then the kid froze, realizing just how many puns you had just said. He was frozen as he tried to process what just happened. It was as if his mind just couldn’t comprehend the sheer volume of cow puns you had dropped. Halfway between a wide grin and a scowl of disgust, his reaction was the best reward you could have asked for.

“Hellfire… that was… certainly something.” Gerson gave you a look of extreme distaste.

Grillby sighed, burying his head in both hands and steaming.

The ox didn’t much care much one way or another, continuing on with their slow disapproval of everything in general. You chuckled softly, pleased with yourself.

Gerson gave the rickshaw a vicious shove, pushing it out of a rut as it rolled in. “Irus! Front and center, we should be gettin’ ta the checkpoint. Give ‘em our status.” Gerson barked the command.

The hound snapped to attention, both ears solemnly folding back as he lifted a paw in salute. Pausing to give you a doggy grin, he quickly dropped to all fours and bounded up the road, his brigandine buckles clinking against scabbard.

“Bird, check the lil spark. This’ll be the last privacy yeh can have up there til I get some distraction or find a magic-nurse fer the kid,” Gerson continued with commands.

You hadn’t thought about that. At Home, there would literally be no privacy and no possibility to give magic to the egg without being seen. At least there would be other monsters to take over donating magic to the little spark thought. That thought… made you a little sad. You had already gotten used to the small soul and her loud demands. You wondered what she would grow into after she hatched. Would you even see her after that?

Grillby was already holding his hands out for the reins. In a practiced maneuver, you gave him the cords, slipped back into the wagon passed him, and tugged his hood back up. The wool cloak was getting damp, and probably chaffed uncomfortably against the elemental’s skin, but at least it had kept the worst of the weather off. Grillby gave a puff of steam as the wool flopped over his face, sparks crackled from under the cowl.

“Oh hush. Both of you. You fire monsters, so temperamental.” You clicked your tongue chidingly. The young soul realized you were ready to give her another bolt of magic, and was already keening for attention. Making sure the occupants of the wagon were still dozing, you quickly pressed a hand to the smooth eggshell and vented a wave of magic. The soul within spun and fluttered under the magic, clearly the soul was not in any distress. You’d be at Home in only an hour or so, this was unquestionably the last you’d see this child again. At least, until she hatched, perhaps.

“I hope you grow up big and strong!” You murmured to the egg, fingers tapping over where the soul rested. “But you’ll have to be twice as strong as your uncle, and watch out for him, ok?”

The soft white light of the soul dance from fingertip to fingertip, exploring your hand against the shell. You got the impression that the child would be happier twirling around dancing rather than being a guard like Grillby.

“Yes, you’ll get to dance soon once you hatch. I’m sure you’ll dance with Nibs and Mays’s kid too.” Offering another spark of magic, you were surprised how much the kid could take now. Your own reserves of magic were once again wiped out. You might be able to restore your strength fast, but the kid seemed to be able to eat even faster. The last few sparks of magic bounced off the eggshell and rolled back to your palm untouched. The inverted heart-shaped soul was snuggled down in the bottom of the egg, seeming to have lulled herself to sleep.

There was the clack of teeth chattering as a wave of cold soaked into your bones. Not only were you out of magic, but this high in the mountains the temperature was freezing. Your own cloak was damp, and the layers of clothing you wore underneath seemed to be carved from ice. Shivering, you returned the egg to the bag and pushed up from the back of the wagon to take the reins again.

“Ok, s-she’s good. Switch me.” Holding out the bag, you lifted an upturned palm for the reins. Your fingers were going numb. That’s… pretty bad.

Instead of the reins put in your hand, a _hand_ is put in your hand.

Grillby was holding your freezing hand, your entire fist swallowed by his long fingers and wide palm. The heat is mesmerizing, like dozing beside a banked fire. The heat blazed along your arm and your skin tingles with warmth and magic. You twitch in surprise, it probably would have been a flinch if you weren’t so cold, and your fingers crab closed against yielding magic fingers.

Oh shit, there goes your face. You are entirely red. AGAIN.

“Ah, thanks. I’m … good now, mate.” As your powers as the high queen to the Awkward Kingdom, you were blessed by this auspicious event. Yes, today was the day you were embarrassed to hell while being handed the reins. Unlocking your knuckles, you released the surprised grip you had on Grillby’s hand. The hand remained on yours for a moment as the elemental turns in his seat to face you directly. The sodden wool was steaming. Venting magic, the elemental went from an uncomfortable hunched figure to sitting straight with flash dried clothing.

“H-hey, should you be _doing_ that? … _How_ are you doing that?” You gawp with your typical lack of dignity and grace.

“Magic.” Grillby replies.

“... wiseass.” You mumble, fixing a disappointed glare at the elemental.

Grillby shrugs, not denying your accusation. “How can you _not_ do this?” he asks.

The reflexive jerk at mentioning your magic caused you to shirk away from the elemental, half on the forward bench and still half in the wagon bay. Your gaze darts into the back of the wagon long enough to ensure the injured monsters are still sleeping. “Because… I’m not fireproof?” You finally dare to answer. It is the truth. You are as flammable as the next human (which is actually frighteningly flammable). Your heavy leather apron is the best protection you can manage against stray fire from the kiln, short of wearing a wet blanket all the time like a shawl.

While he peered down at you, eyes dancing along your hair. There is a grunt from the elemental as he accepts your answer. Yes, hair _was_ typically _very_ flammable. When he doesn’t press the question any further, you relax a bit and allow yourself to climb into the front of the wagon. It’s warmer up here than in the back. Even as fluffy snowflakes spiral towards the ground, anything that drifts close to Grillby is immediately melted and hisses into steam against his cloak. He doesn’t react when you settle next to him, at this point he’s back to that thousand-mile stare he gets sometimes. The one that every traumatized mage child, army veteran, and parent mourning the death of a child gets. You could have started juggling fireballs and doubted he would have noticed.

Everyone else sure as hellfire would have noticed though. The gates of Home loomed above the road, carved out of the valley walls themselves. Now there were more guards than just hounds, dozens of monsters that you had never seen before were standing at attention in columns along the gate. It seemed far too much of a guard to see refugees home. Even if they felt threatened by an attack, this was the wrong formation to line up in. They were simply standing at parade rest, full dress armor, not battle armor.

“Oh no.” Asgore whispered, looking down the road into the center of Home.

You felt your heart accelerate as ‘fight or flight’ instincts had to be shoved out of the way. Standing in the center of town, flanked on both sides by the guard, was the biggest monster you’ve ever seen.

Asgore looked over his shoulder at you, his brows drawing down. “It’s _dad.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm half feeling an urge to go back and name chapters, and half can't be bothered. ... meh, maybe on a final revision.  
> Sounds like classes are starting up next week, including kindergarten for my nephew. The kid literally has no idea what is about to happen. I feel kinda bad for him. Welcome to the next 12 years of your life, kiddo. Meanwhile, I ate cookies for dinner and didn't wear pants when I got home. Being an adult is awesome!
> 
> Also, Sir Irus is dedicated to a game I used to play that put 'sir' in front of ANY character name you chose. Thus, the birth of Sir Prize, Sir Cumference, and Sir Cus into that realm... in my mind, their parents hated them, no other reason to have such shitty names.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RANDOM SURPRISE CHAPTER!  
> I got let of early from work today. Unexpected partial day... and now I celebrate by goofing off and playing some games!  
> Edit: This is what becomes of me not proofing. Fixed grammar typos!... and added yet more faux pas situations. because I'm REALLY GOOD at the awkward.

King Magore was a white woolly nightmare, wrapped in plate armor and a silk cloak. He had to be close to nine feet tall, including his horns which twisted like a rams. He had the same wide ears as Asgore, and the same muzzle too, but the monster lacked the kind smile or sparkling eyes that the child had. Where Asgore had bright gold hair, the king had a shaggy black mane and a short trimmed beard. Beside him stood the tallest skeleton you had ever seen, almost on the same height as the king, and with strange cracks in his skull. The skeleton seemed to be an adviser of some sort, he leaned to the king and murmured something.

Immediately, Magore’s gaze fell on you.

You cowed under the king’s glare, slowly sinking back into the wagon to duck behind Grillby. Even the fire elemental seemed to return from his lost reverie and sat perfectly straight, shoulders level, and as close to at a parade rest as he could come while driving the wagon onwards.

“Sire.” Gerson was quick to bend the knee before the king, using his staff to help himself to the ground or risk toppling backwards onto his shell. “Gerson, captain o’ tha guards from Riverside.” Holding out his hand to the king, Magore allowed him to press his knuckles to his forehead.

‘ _Ah, that’s where that gesture comes from… and why were they using it on me if it was something appropriate for a king? One gesture for everyone?’_ You gawked, praying to the heavens above that you weren’t staring like a slack-jawed yokel.

“Dad!” Asgore bumbled forward, dodging around the cart and wagon to stop in front of his father. Though the kid was already six feet tall, it was clear he was only half grown when standing next to his parent. Magore was burly where Asgore was reedy, the king had only three feet (and an additional foot in horns alone) over his son but was a dozen times more imposing.

Despite the serious air and the full guard on standby, the king lost his serious demeanor for a moment. Sighing, he stooped down and cupped a paw behind his son’s head, leaning forward to bunt his forehead into Asgore’s own. “I told you the weather was getting fowl. I told you not to make the long trip down. But stars… you did anyway. Asgore, you never listen.”

Asgore went stiff, eyes dropping down out of guilt as he toed the ground.

“But… your actions helped save the lives of those refugees. And Nicodemus tells me you are to thank for cementing a trade alliance with a sympathizer.” The King gave his son a soft smile.

It took far too long for you to realize that this was _you_ the king was talking about. Your thoughts are in such disarray, you have to struggle what ‘trade alliance’ Asgore got you to agree to before you remember the supply list the kid had brought. You had been offering Nibs this ‘trade agreement’ for years though. Best not to correct the king. In his defense, Asgore did go above and beyond in bringing the list of supplies Home needed to you.

Under the praise of his father, Asgore blushed and nodded mutely, looking up at his dad with adoration. You felt something soft and fragile crack in your chest. Stars, you loved the kid… but it as a pale comparison to the love a parent feels for their actual kid. It’s clear as day that the kid wants nothing more in life than to grow up like his dad.

‘ _Why didn’t I get to have that?’_ Your heart mourns.

Your inner thoughts are cut completely off when the king looks directly at you, jet black eyes meeting cool gray. You feel your teeth snap closed, catching the tip of your tongue with a stab of pain. “Awf!” You yelp, clutching a hand to your mouth.

“Is this the human?” The king’s voice was a deep boom, carrying over the entire valley.

“Yes, sire.” Nibs moved forward and made a brief introduction on your behalf. Fortunately, he didn’t add your many titles in, ‘Queen of Awkward’, ‘Princess of Puns’, ‘Local Idiot: missing village’. He stood at the king’s side, looking almost like a comically small child next to the two towering monsters and the massive prince.

The king’s eyes have not left yours. He wants you to stand up. You feel it: a _compulsion_. A low grade magic generally used to convince others to go along with you without a fuss. The spell used to be a bane at the Academy, mage students using it like a normal human kid uses peer pressure only many times more effective. Fortunately, you also know the easiest way to break it. Pain. And as luck would have it, you had just bitten the shit out of your tongue. The taste of blood and sting of pain negated the _compulsion_ entirely… but it didn’t change the fact it would be rude as hellfire to ignore the king.

You rise to your feet for a proper introduction, “I’m -oaaowh!” A sharp crack across the top of your skull staggers you, and you feel yourself wobbling off the wagon. Heat coils across your arm and back, and you manage to keep from falling over. “Damn canopy…” you hiss in pain as you realize that standing in the back of the wagon was an idiot move. You were too tall to properly stand in the wagon and smashed your head into the wooden beams.

And then you realize that Grillby launched himself up to catch you before you could totter out of the wagon and had your arm pulled over his shoulder as you slumped against him. Probably because if you fell, you would be taking his niece with. His fingers clutched at your cloak, trying to find a firm grip without you slipping bonelessly to the ground. If not for your own arm around his neck, you would have toppled anyway.

“Oh hellfire.” Shamefaced and panicked, your brain decided this would be the prime time to remind you of that time you wiped out at the grand cathedral during your time at Academy, rolled down a flight of stairs, and came to rest relatively unharmed at the feet of the vicar during a mass. Skirts flipped, bum exposed for all to see. Yep. That happened. You thought the nuns were going to combust. Thanks for the reminder, brain. Good times.

There is a deep chuckle, like the sound of an echo in a deep cave. Grasping the back of Grillby’s cloak, you manage to look up to see king Magore struggling to keep a straight face, one paw covering his mouth. The skeleton at his side looked appalled on your behalf, as if he expected _more_ from a human. Even poor Asgore looks mortified for you, but also seemed unsure if he should laugh or rush to your side to help. Nibs doesn’t seem surprised at all: the little monster has seen you faceplant into piles of ash more times that should be allowed.

Struggling, you manage to pull the strap of the bag over your head, then lift it higher and draped it over Grillby’s neck. Now at least you don’t have to worry about damaging the egg as you embarrass yourself further. Except for… you know… the obvious that you _clearly_ weren’t done embarrassing yourself yet. While you lifted the strap of the bag onto Grillby’s shoulder, your half-panicked brain didn’t quite comprehend that the rest of the strap was still crossing over your chest to where the bag rested on your opposite hip. So the result was you effectively tethered yourself to Grillby, then staggered and brought both of you to your knees as you tried to step away. You landed heavily on your shins, a sharp sting of pain as you barked them against the wagon. Grillby was so off-balance he was dragged down with you, one arm still around your back as he tried to catch himself with the other hand.

The end result was you on all fours on the wagon’s bay, with Grillby braced over your back, one arm on either side of your ribs. Heat burned your skin, whether it was from Grillby’s fire or your own idiotic blush, you had no idea. You felt like you were going up in flames yourself. Your brain was never going to let you live this down… if you ever needed to remember a time when you looked like the biggest ass ever, _this_ would be the memory you were tormented with. Thanks, brain!

‘ _Hellfire, just dig a hole and let me throw myself in it. Please. That’s all I ask.’_ You push yourself to rest back against your thighs, your back bumping into Grillby’s chest as you sit. Throwing both hands over your face, you now hearing more laughter. The loudest of which was from right next to you. Grillby was struggling to keep a straight face and the laughter escaped without his permission anyway. Where the king had a deep and echoing laugh, Grillby’s laugh was warm and raspy.

“This is just painful ta watch. On yer feet, bird.” Gerson had a paw over his face, embarrassed for your complete lack of any sort of grace. Pulling the strap of the bag from Grillby’s head, and untangling it from your arms, he thrust the bag at the fire elemental who only continued to laugh. Grasping you by the back of your cloak, the tortoise half dragged and half helped you off the wagon. You managed to stick the dismount this time, not falling over, or tripping, or otherwise making an ass of yourself.

With Gerson at your side you came to a halt in front of Magore, rubbing your cheeks to try and banish the burning flush across your skin. You could still hear muffled laughter from the guards and the completely uncensored laughter from Grillby who wasn’t even trying to hide it. Looking up, your auburn hair fell into your face as you had to lean back slightly to look the king in the eye. The king had managed to compose himself, and the stoic and gauging expression locked on to you. You were being judged.

“So you are Nicodemus’ human friend.” The king’s voice was a deep bass growl. Magore reached forward with one paw, his entire finger the size of your whole hand.

You had a split second to make a choice what to do before it stretched into the ‘awkward’ category… ‘disrespectful’ was going to be riding close on its tail if you didn’t react. Reaching forward, you took the king’s paw (really, his finger. It was all you could manage), bowed to one knee, and touched the hand to your forehead in the strange form of greeting that so many monsters had used on you.

“Oh my.” The king sounded… amused?

Looking up, you saw Asgore looking at you with horrified amazement, Nibs with both hands pulling his ears in frustration, and the king was smiling. The skeleton adviser had given up and slammed the scroll of parchment he was holding into his cracked skull with a soft _whap._

“Wrong greeting.” Magore rumbled, a wide grin showing his teeth.

“W-wrong?” Your mind scrambled. Did you do it wrong? Bow to one knee, take hand, press back of hand to forehead. Done. Right?

“That is the gesture a _male_ monster does to someone of respect.” Magore took your tiny hand between two fingers, so small it was lost in his grasp, and raised it to his face. He had to stoop down, and literally take a knee before your hand could reach. However, he didn’t place the back of your hand to his forehead.

Instead he kissed it.

“This one is a greeting  _from_ a _female_ monster.  You introduced yourself as male.”

You take a deep breath. “Your Highness, on account that I can’t possibly turn any more red without blacking out, I request that I simply curtsy or something… before I go leap off the mountain,” you blurt out.

Now Asgore was howling with laughter. Most of the guards were struggling valiantly with a case of the giggles. One dragon had given up entirely and was lying face down on the ground snorting with mirth as he pounded against the ground in a frenzy. Nibs had surrendered on looking mortified and was simply rolling with it now. Your rabbit friend was adaptable, but he had sorely underestimated your ability to make an ass of yourself in public situations.

“As you wish.” Magore released your hand, eyes laughing, though he managed to keep his expression politely schooled.

As you were not wearing a skirt you took the edge of your cloak, fanning it out as you crossed your legs and dipped. The Law of Unfortunate Events was enough appeased with your embarrassment that you didn’t fall down or make a bigger ass of yourself.

The skeleton at the king’s side finally removed the scroll he had shoved in his face (probably to hide either the look of disgust or the hysterical giggles that everyone else had) and stepped forward. “On behalf of the king, I have been instructed to make sure you have all supplies, payment, or recompense for the trade agreement the prince has set up with you.” His tone made it clear he was only doing this because he was ordered to. Strangely enough, there was a flicker of magic around him as he spoke, as if he was gesturing with magic. You tried not to stare at the magic… was it considered rude to stare at the magic?  Shit, you were staring at the magic. In a last ditch effort to not stare, you dragged your gaze back to the caravan. Gerson had pulled Grillby aside was was giving him instructions in a low tone. Both of them had been staring at you. Once you all made eye contact, there was an extremely awkward moment where none of you knew what to do, so Grillby looked down at the egg, Gerson gave you a snarky wave, and you quickly jerked your attention back to the skeleton.

“Uh…” you hesitated, struggling to return to the conversation, “I think I’m good. Asgore offered unminted gold in exchange for the supplies. I think it’ll be enough to cover the merchant’s cost.”

How odd, there were two small white lights -- almost like fires -- in the skeleton’s eye sockets. As he considering you, one of the white flickering lights grew wider before it returned to its normal size. You have the feeling he just did the skeleton monster equivalent of raising an eyebrow at you. “Enough… for the list of supplies you were asked to retrieve? Am I not mistaken in assuming, you are trading directly with the merchants, correct?”

“Yes, sir?” Was something wrong with the amount Asgore had given you? You did some rough estimates based on the size of the gold nuggets, it seemed like it would be enough, or _more_ than enough to cover the costs. You had a feeling the monsters had gotten so used to being ripped off, they were accustomed to impossibly inflated prices.

‘Sir’ seemed to please the skeleton. “Oh, I do not have a lordship. There are better uses for my time.” A long hand with slender fingers was held out to you. Oh no… monster greeting underway! “I am Doctor Wing Ding Gaster, Royal Scientist.” Looks like it was time to be embarrassed again. You put your hand in the skeleton’s own palm, the feeling of dry bone under your fingers was strange. And once your fingers were in his palm, he curled his fingers around your own and lifted your hand to his forehead. Why were all monsters so … tall?

“If you are able, I have a request you might assist with. We must speak.” Gaster released your hand, letting you pull it back to rub at your flushed face.

“Hold it, lil' bird,” Gerson’s dry voice intruded on Gaster’s request though, “Got a last request ‘for yeh go. Mind getting Grill ta the healers? Not quite sure where it’s at, but the little spark is needing a healer’s touch as soon as possible.”

Grillby was hovering behind Gerson’s shoulder, looking uncomfortable. He wouldn’t look at you, but after your spectacular tumble and dragging him down with, he was probably feeling flustered from all the embarrassment you had caused.

Gaster was sizing up the fire monster, one long white finger bone tapping against his teeth. “The healer’s clinic is just outside of the royal quarters, it would be on the way to accompany me to my laboratory, then you can continue on from there.”

Something feels… off. You can’t put your finger on it, but there is some kind of tension that you are sensing here. Turning towards Grillby, he still won’t meet your gaze. “Can the little spark hold out long enough to make a quick stop?”

Hesitating, Grillby finally turns towards you. His expression is guarded, but you can see the wariness there. He nods slowly, his hand tightening on the strap of the bag.

“Alright, then lead the way, sir,” you turned towards Gaster, nodding. Lifting a hand in farewell, you give a short wave to Gerson. “Just a short detour, I promise. I’ll carry the two of them into the healers if I have to.”

“I’m holdin’ yeh to that, bird.” Gerson folded his arms over his plastron, nodding once before heading back to the caravan to help with disembarking refugees and guards.  Gaster looked briefly disappointed at something, but nodded and lead the way anyway.  You found yourself following a seven foot tall skeleton as he left the city square with a six foot tall flaming inferno behind you. Gazing back briefly, you made eye contact with Nibs as he watched you leave. The rabbit held up a single thumb, showing it was okay. Not that it made you feel any less on edge on following a stranger, but sure, Nibs was wishing you luck.

It was that moment you also realized that you had effectively invited Grillby with.  Gaster's invitation seemed to have been  _just for you._ He had suggested Grillby go on his own to the healers while you stay behind to conclude business.  But due to your phrasing, you were now dragging the guard with.  No wonder Gaster looked put upon: you were now that asshole who got a +1 invite to any event because the host was too polite to call out your bullshit.

_'Brain... we are not fit to be in the company of anyone.  Why don't we just insult someone's mother while we are at it?'_

' _K,'_ your brain agreed.

_'Actually, please don't, I was joking!'_ But knowing yourself, you'd insult someone's mother soon enough.

Gaster lead you to where the cliff face rose high, and doors had been carved out of stone. You knew it by prestige only. This was the royal quarters, where the King, his court, and advisers made their homes. The inside was dark, your eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom. Polished stone was everywhere, and the carved out building seemed more like a cave than a castle. Near the back of the hall, a massive set of spiral stairs suddenly descended into the gloom, with only torch light and Grillby’s own dancing lights to break the darkness. Gaster lead the way down.

“Wait… how far underground are we?” The stairs kept going on and on. It felt like you had just descended far beyond where a basement would normally be.

“Distance from the surface, I am unsure. But there are caves located underneath Home. Excavating them out for more living space is the most efficient way to make room.” Gaster dragged his hand against the wall, bone scraping against stone as he descended further.

A room was at side of the landing, after a hundred or so steps downward. The skeleton stepped into the room, leaving you grateful you didn’t have go to down any further. “I’d offer a seat, but the room suffers from an extreme lack of chairs,” Gaster spoke in a mellow voice, measured and calm. The room was filled with glass tubes that were carrying colored liquid from one vessel to another, strange machinery, and books strewn across every flat surface. There were no chairs at all, it was far too cramped for chairs in here anyway. Grillby was shifting uncomfortably, casting a wary glance at all of the glassware filled with strange liquids.

“That’s fine. We’re kinda in a rush to the healers anyway. Do you have a list made up already?” You felt your skin prickle with magic and went rigid. Whether it was your own magic scratching uncomfortably at your skin, or Grillby’s, or even Gaster’s you had no idea.

The skeleton gave a curt nod, pulling open a desk draw to retrieve a rolled scroll. “Yes, I wished to give you my own supply list, and very specific instructions on _what_ to find. Per request of the king, you will be compensated… if you can even find it.”

You twitched. Was he just so stiff and formal he had a literally bone up his ass, or was he just a jerk? Grillby stood straight and on the ready at your back, his heat soaking into your damp cloak. “I’m assuming it’s going to be sciencey stuff?” Oh god, sciencey… SCIENCEY? Brain, you are fired.

“It is related to my position as royal scientist, yes,” Gaster nodded, magic flicking around him as he spoke. The list… was comprised of the worst handwriting you had ever seen. Literally chicken scratch.

Finally, fortune decided to take pity and shove the latest series of unfortunate events out of the way. Gaster started to explain each item on the list. “First, I require several books, I have written the names down for you. Though I don’t expect you to have much luck in such a remote outpost.”

And thank the fortunes, he actually said the name of the books too, otherwise you would have gone into the nearest bookstore and requested a copy of ‘ _Things I ate with Breakfast’_ …. That handwriting was awful. You had been afraid it was written in some kind of monster script, but it was english… just… very very badly written. Before you could forget, you reached a hand into the leather apron pocket, scrambling for a piece of charcoal or graphite to write with. Instead you found only ash and a few green twigs with leaves you kept in your pockets as a bribe if the oxen needed encouragement… but that would work.

“One moment!” you said, glancing around the lab and spotting a cracked and discarded cup. Holding a handful of ash in one hand, you dumped it into the broken cup. A pitcher of water was resting on a table (with no chairs) and you dumped a few drops of water into the cup, turning the ash into a dark and thick water. You didn’t have any sap or gum needed to add to the ash, but this would act as at least a temporary ink as long as you didn’t get it wet and didn’t touch it too much. Giving the cup a vigorous stir with your fingers, you then pulled a twig out of your pocket, and using teeth to strip the outer bark off, leaving just the flexible, green quick of the branch.

Done! Primitive ink, and quill. Dipping the green branch into the ink, you made a few scratches on the paper made the writing more legible, and added some notes of your own.

Gaster was honestly amazed, one eye very bright while the other remained a pinprick of white light. “You just created an ink and quill from literal garbage.”

“Ash has its uses! It’s… also really good for the plants. Ash can go into so much, just add sand or a binder or something and it’ll be a dozen different things,” you smiled, awkwardly, and swept your fingers across your brow to catch a stray lock of hair and tuck it away.

The white lights of Gaster’s eyes flickered, as if slowly blinking. “You have a … right here… across your face.” Gesturing where you had just touched, Gaster pointed across your forehead where the ink mixture was now smeared.

A warm hand reached down, cupping the underside of your jaw and pinning your chin in place. Grillby rolled his wrist to the side, wiping the smudge of ash from your face with the inside of his sleeve.

You felt red creeping across your cheeks. Fumbling, you found the ever familiar cloth tucked into your belt and pushed Grillby’s hand away to scrub at your face. “It’s a losing fight. You’re just going to have to accept I’m made of ash,” you said to the fire monster.

“And here I thought humans were made of ‘stuff’,” Grillby chuckled, pulling his hand back and returning it to hold at the strap of the bag.

“Stuff, and sass, and ash” you nodded sagely, fighting the blush down.

Clearing his throat, Gaster made a few gestures with just one hand as he drew your attention, “Actually, you might be able to help me with more than just finding the materials I need then.”

“Sure, … with, what?” Unsure what you could do other than pick up supplies, you shifted a bit uneasy. But awkward was your normal state around strangers. Reflexively, your arms folded around your stomach. Geez, you didn’t feel this awkward around Grillby or Asgore or even Gerson.

He handed out a flask filled with some rose colored liquid. You took the flask gently, not wanting to fumble it and knock it to the ground. “I require as many glass specimen tubes as you can acquire. But I don’t doubt they’ll be difficult to find. And as much…,” The flask in your hand went from a pale rose color to a vibrant pink in an instant. Gaster hesitated, his skeletal face actually seemed to frown. How could a skeleton with a face made of bone could frown… who could say. Magic, probably.

Before you could ponder his hesitation, the expression was gone, and he made a few gestures as he took the flask back, his magic fanning into hands that made similar gestures. “No, it is nothing. Do not worry about the reaction. Just was going to say I need as much glassware as possible, any size, preferably larger vessels though.” He tipped the flask so the fluid inside swirled, the bright magenta color starting to glow now.

Oh no, you’ve broken science! You were at least 90% certain glowing water was a bad thing. The remaining 10% was busy thinking ‘ooooh, shiny’ so you could disregard that part.

“Ok, so as much glassware as I can find. Got it.” You reached up, pulling a lock of hair behind your ear. This time you were more careful not to touch your face with ink-stained fingers at least.

The skeleton swirled the flask thoughtfully, one long white finger bone tapping his chin. “Are you able to mold glass, or ‘blow glass’ as it is called?”

The kiln was dead. So very dead. But even if it hadn’t blown up, it wasn’t meant for blowing glass… yet. Since you had to rebuild the kiln, you considered what you would have to do to make it able to handle glass as well as bricks. “I’ve never tried. I lack a lot of the tools, and colored glass takes minerals I’m sure I don’t have. Also… my kiln blew up. It literally exploded. ...But… it’s just sand that makes glass, right?”

The fact you seemed curious and willing to try, Gaster went into a burst of wild gestures so fast even his magic seemed to have trouble following him. “Assuming you are able repair your kiln: if you were willing to at least try to make specimen flasks and glasswork for me, it would doubtless be easier than trying to find what I need in a small outpost. I would reimburse you for the materials you need to get started. Even if you need to find books on how to shape glass, I would gladly reimburse you for that as well.” And to prove his point, he withdrew a small pouch from his breast pocket. It clinked with metal. Fitting phalanges into the drawstring, he loosed the bag and tipped a handful of coins out. Unlike what Asgore offered, this one was a coin of the realm, not raw gold.

‘ _That is more money that I’d probably see with two years of work!’_ You realized in horror.

“I… can’t take that. That’s way more than just glass tubes are worth.” Red flushed down your neck as you felt a strange stab of _something_ worm through your stomach. Was this pity from monsters, or where they so used to being ripped off by merchants that this was a fair price for them?

“It would also be for the books as well, if you can find them. I surmise the books will be most of the cost.” Gaster was amused, probably at the shades of red you were now turning. “And payment for ink, if you are able to keep up with the amounts I will need. I will require such a large amount of ink, it would likely be most feasible to produce it yourself. Oh. That is the final item on my list, ink.” As irony would have it, that was the only legible item on the list. “Preferable ink that will not smudge.” You could hear the disgust in Gaster’s voice as he ran a finger bone over the paper, the ink he had written his list in flaking just as badly as the spontaneous ink you had just mixed. Someone had skipped out on the binder in his ink, leaving it cheap and poor quality.

You made few more notes on the paper, and everything he needed was printed legibly. If you could find the books they were priority #1 on the list. The glassware, if possible, was to be found, and if not then you were to try and learn how to do this yourself. Gaster had even included an ‘allowance’ for raw materials, books, whatever you needed to get started on making it yourself.

“I’ll do what I can, but if we come back up the mountain with only your ink, I’m returning the gold as well. Ink is cheap, considering how much ash I have lying around.” You stood, trying to look firm in this. You would not accept payment for a job not done.

Gaster rose to his feet as well, his face an emotionless mask, “You are a credit to your people, I only wish there were more like you.” He said in gestures.

“Yeah, me too,” you replied quietly. “Um… sorry about, ruining your flask of… experiment.”

“Think nothing of it, a simple formula, not yet perfected,” the skeleton dismissed your apology, fanning a hand in your direction. “May I escort you back to the surface? The sections of Lower Home are quite ...hmm… labyrinthian.”

Grillby was already heading for the door.

“I think I’m ok. I’ll just follow the walking campfire,” you half bowed, standing on the edge of your cloak. Tugging it free, you nearly tipped the table one of the tables over as you backed into it, and then staggered over a mortar and pestle someone had left on the floor. You managed to not break anything in your attempt to leave the room.

You and science were not on good terms.

As Gaster bid his farewell and waved, you raised a hand to wave back, only to walk face first into a bonfire just beyond the door. Or rather, Grillby. You bounced off his chest as you stepped into the hall, both arms lifting to try and catch yourself before you hit the stone floor. Fingers caught the edge of Grillby’s cloak, even as his hand closed on your arm. There was an awkward game of tug-o-war, in which Grillby would have been yanked straight to the ground if he hadn’t managed to lever you against himself.

“Please, please tell me you are here to put me out of my embarrassed misery now,” you clutch both hands to your face. “I think every monster now assumes I’m some sort of traveling comedy of errors.”

Grillby’s got one arm under your own. His other hand pats you on the head. “Yes,” he assures you, that indeed, you are the butt of most jokes, “but it puts us at ease.”

“Ah good, no need to worry about your feelings then,” you snorted, releasing your deathgrip you had on Grillby’s cloak. “Ready to head to the healer?”

Nodding, Grillby let go of your arm, allowing you to step back and get a bubble of space between the two of you. Your arm felt hot where he had grabbed it, steam peeling from your damp cloak from standing next to the elemental. He lead the way through the dark stairs, lighting the gloom and making strange shadows dance on the walls. If not for him, you would have been slamming into every wall in the darkness. By the time you broke into daylight and the sharp bite of cold air, you both sighed in relief simultaneously.,

It took only a moment to get your bearings now that you were outside. “The healer is this way. One of those… tree monsters? A dryad I think.” You jerked a thumb north, towards the residential district of Home. “Nib’s place is just beyond that.”

Most of the monsters of Home were scrambling around, trying to find places for all the new refugees. The streets were busy and bustling, bumping shoulders as they tried to squeeze passed one another. Grillby shifted his niece’s bag to his other side, keeping it positioned between the two of you where the kid was less likely to be bumped into by a passing civilian. He didn’t speak for the short walk it took to cross the city, his head slightly bowed under the hood of his cloak and his eyes starting to lose their focus. If you hadn’t stopped in front of the healer’s house, you were sure he would have just kept walking.

“Right here. Hey wait, you are walking passed it!” Reaching out, your hand caught the back of Grillby’s cloak. He seemed dazed as he stopped. “Maybe catch some rest while you are there too. You aren’t looking to hot anymore.” The unintentional pun escaped before you could stop it.

Grillby gave a sigh and crackled at the pun.

Not impressed, was he? Well, you could do better!

“Well, I’ll _lava_ you here. Home isn’t as bad as it _steams_ , it’s just a bit _coal’_ d up here!”

Now the look Grillby gave you was one of aghast. “Stop.”

“Ahaha, by now, I’d think you realize that I’ll make an _ash_ of myself, but I can’t be stopped.””

“You are an _ember_ -assment.” He sounded frustrated now.

Your mouth fell open slightly. Then a wide grin crossed your face. “I think I’ve met my _match!_ Then again… you’ve probably heard all the fire puns before.”

Grillby nodded, sighing heavily. “Multiple times.”

“Maybe other puns then. Another time. Take care of that kid, she’s... She’s really special.” There was a painful stab at your heart, as if it forgot to beat for a moment. That was your cue to leave. You really didn’t want to drag up those feelings. You turned around, walking backwards towards the residential district as you waved. “ _Fire_ well, Grillby. Take care!” You were a shit, taunting fire monsters with awful puns was probably a poor life choice.

Grillby saw you off by checking you. You flinched, but you had it coming and didn’t shout at him for it. Instead, you lifted a rude gesture in parting. Your last glimpse of Grillby was as the elemental ducked through the healer’s office. You hoped he found some help… and not just for the egg. The monster was struggling, and if he went down, the kid wouldn’t last either.


	15. Chapter 15

You hadn’t even made it to Nib’s house before you were intercepted by the rabbit himself. “Hey bird! See you got away from Gaster, thankfully.”

“If by ‘got away’ you mean ‘nearly destroyed his lab until Grillby escorted me from the building before I could destroy it’, then yes. I got away!” Tucking the scarf around your neck under your chin, you shivered at the biting cold air.

“Sounds about right. I should remember that next time I’m called down to his strange lab.” Nibs led the way through the winding streets. “You left quite an impression on the king though!”

You groaned. You might have left an impression, but certainly not the one you wanted to.

“You were charming!” Nibs insisted.

“That word isn’t even in my language. Unless you are pronouncing ‘awkward’ wrong?”

“I’m pretty sure you are the first non-hostile human Grillby had met too. I think he needed to see not all humans are all ‘rawwrr’ and ‘murder!’ all the time.” Nibs curled his tiny paws into claw shapes, looking as ferocious as a bunny could.

You’d seen scarier blankets.

“Oh, only if it’s Tuesday,” you snarked.

“Here we are, our Home-home!... ok, not telling anyone, but Asgore needs some work on naming things.” Nibs reached at your cloak, finding your hand under the fabric and pulling gently on it. “We’ve cleared a spot for you tonight. The hounds will put your slow cows in the stable for tonight.”

“I’m not going to put anyone out of their room!” you insisted.

“No worries. It’s a bit cozy at our place. You’ll be bunking in the kitchen next to the hearth. At least it’ll be warm.” Nibs gave your hand a squeeze, and you returned the grip. “‘Sides, I have the feelin’ you and Mays have some stuff to talk about.”

At mention of Mays, the first thought in your head was ‘egg’, followed by immediately grasping at your side for the egg bag you were so used to wearing. Remembering that Grillby had his niece at the healer’s now, you felt an anxious prickle at the back of your neck. “Do you think that Grillby’s niece is going to be ok?”

At this, Nibs frowned. “I dunno. A crack is pretty bad. It’ll take a lot of magic to keep the kid going until it hatches. But worse is the fact that he’s the only family the kid has… and he’s not really in a fit state to give love.”

“Can the healer help?” you press.

Again, Nibs shrugged, looking helpless and hating it. “Maybe a little… but I’ve honestly never heard of an egg getting a crack so early in, and surviving. Cracks are usually small chips… not… _that._ ”

But the fire monster’s soul seemed so strong and energetic. You had to hope the kid was a fighter… “She’s stronger she seems, … I think she’ll be fine.” You say, hoping with all your heart that it was true.

“Yeah, me too.” Nibs squeezed your hand, reassuring himself a little too.

Nib’s cottage was smaller than your own house, about half the size and without the cellar. In the house there were a countless amount of monsters bouncing around. You recognized Mays at once, waving to her over the sea of flop ears. Sitting in a corner knitting was Nib’s mother, the 400 year old matron of the family. Dozens of aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, seconds cousins, and unknown relations scrambled about the place. Most of the children howled a loud greeting to ‘Nico’s human friend’, while the adults nodded to you peacefully. Ah… you had almost forgotten Nib’s entire family refused to call him by his nickname.

Someone was waving a piece of paper in the air. “Human friend! Can you get these items on my list? Trading cobbled shoes for the items!”

Reaching out to take the paper, you noticed it was all small items, mostly used in leather crafting. Which monster gave this to you? The blue rabbit? Oh, the lop-eared yellow bunny. “Sure, sounds fair. I’ll have it up in about a week.” This was how trading normally worked for you, with items being bartered for items.

“Human frien!” A child monster in a green and blue striped sweater grasped at your trousers, looking up at you, “Trade for dis!” Holding up a piece of paper, a drawing of a… monster…??? Was holding a … uh… something.

“Good job, sweetie!” You cooed, leaning sideways until you bumped into Nibs. “Quick, what is this?” You hiss under your breath to your friend.

Nibs took a look at the drawing before whispering back, “It’s Nana, holding a cookie. … or… it’s King Magore, holding a book… or… it’s a hound… hold… uh...” Pausing, Nibs rubbed at his forehead and gave up. “Gail… what is it you’ve drawn?” He asked.

“It’s you!” Gail cried, offended.

“And what am I holding?” Nibs pressed.

“A wotomelon!”

“Ah yes. Watermelon. That would have been my third guess.” Nibs shrugged, his eyes saying ‘oh god, please save me from my family’.

Kneeling down and handing the paper back to the kid, you nodded. “I’ll see if watermelon are in season. Otherwise, I might only be able to bring you seeds.”

“I like wotomelons!” The kid didn’t seem upset either way. “You can have dis!” Giving you another picture, you were again left wondering what had been drawn. It was… a spider, holding a spider in each hand, falling into a bonfire?

“Thank you, sweetie… can you tell me what this is?” You pointed to a very small part of the drawing, hoping to god the kid would tell you what the whole thing was.

“That’s the fire!” Gail chirped. “The one that hugged you!”

Oh god. The kid had drawn you after you bashed your head against the wagon and then been grabbed by Grillby before you could fall over. Now you gave Nibs a look that begged for mercy as well.

“Clear out, you lot! I’ll see you all bright and early for breakfast!” Mays began to bullrush the other rabbits from the room, clearing the family out one at a time until it was just her, Nibs, and grandma Nana. “Thank you for helping with everyone tonight, Nana.”

The old monster woman nodded quietly, getting to her large feet and rocking gently for a moment. “I think there is going to be too much excitement here tonight. I’ll retire early, dear. Have a good night, bird.”

“Goodnight, ma’am.” You called out as she left the room.

Once the other rabbits were out of the room, you allowed yourself to slump onto the table with a groan. The top of your head still stung from cracking it against the wagon. Your mouth still tasted like blood from biting your tongue too. Today just wouldn’t end. The drawing Gail had given you was clutched in your left hand, the parchment starting to crinkle under your fingers. Folding it quickly in quarters, you tucked the paper in your pocket. You couldn’t throw it away, the child was using it as ‘trade’ for a watermelon if you could find one. Plus, it was cute.

“Have a sit, bird, I’ll make some tea.” Mays put a kettle on the potbelly stove, flicking magic at it to ignite the flames. “Looks like you are a bit damp there too. Cloak off!” She commanded, pointing to a drying rack.

Peeling your itchy wool cloak off, you carefully hung it over the rack by the fire, stretching out the fabric to dry faster. Once the cloak was removed, you became aware how wet your outer layers of clothing were too. Shucking a layer of deerskin pants and a heavy wool knit sweater, you were left in your thin canvas trousers and a roughspun undershirt. Mittens, scarf, and socks were carefully lined up on the rack as well, filling the entire space.

“Sometimes I forget how big you humans are… and how awful you are at keeping your own temperature warm. So much clothing!” Mays tutted, helping stretch the clothes flat.

“You see this pasty, thin skin? We’re basically bald, upright bears. Being cold makes up cranky.” Dropping to a stool in front of the fire, you hold your hands over the warm glow and rub the feeling back into your fingers. The urge to stoke the fire with magic scratched at your senses. Instead, you pick up the fire poker and turn over a log to reveal the hot coals.

Nibs was pacing along the far end of the kitchen, his arms curled around a bundle of cloth that he was cooing at.

“Is-is that the baby?” You sit upright, almost surprised to see the egg.

“It is! I thought you might like to meet the little one, after you spent the day babysitting the elemental baby.” Nibs grinned, a wide, fatherly glow of pride about him.

Nodding frantically, your hair tumbled from its bun and spilled around your shoulders. Nibs was careful to pull back the layers of cloth one at a time until he found the egg within. “It’s… smaller. But bright.” You didn’t even realize you had spoken.

“Well, elementals are bigger than rabbits,” Mays said, stating the obvious, “but that doesn’t mean our souls are any less than theirs!” You didn’t doubt it… Mays has the fury of a typhoon, and the heart of a mother bear. It would be hard to believe any elemental beating her at that.

“Here, hands out.” Nibs lifted the bundle to you.

Your heart was now lodged in your throat. This is was it lived now. “N-no? What? Are you sure?”

“Bird, you oversized ashen chicken. You were babying Grillby’s niece for the past few days. You think you can’t handle my kid?” Nibs gave an amused snort.

Timidly, you held your hands out for the egg.

And with that, Nibs placed the egg in your hands. Much like Grillby’s niece, this monster’s soul was a white, inverted heart shape. At your touch, the soul came to explore, bumping into you in what was certainly a hello. You ran your finger along the egg, letting the monster within play chase with you, and chased them back as they whirled around in the shell.

“Look at you, already a favorite!” Mays tittered, pouring a cup of ginger tea. “It took a week before they would play with my uncle like that. And they _still_ don’t like your great aunt.” She jabbed soft paw into the crook of Nibs’ arm, curling her arms around him in a hug.

“That’s because my great aunt smells like a produce cart fell into peat bog.” Nibs admitted.

Playing with the egg was much like the fire monster egg… but with a few noticeable differences. You couldn’t hear this soul like you could the damaged egg. Grillby’s niece was always calling loudly, either for food or for attention. This child was well contented with it’s parents love, and had a huge extended family to provide magic. Even with both eggs almost the same age, this one seemed far more robust. The difference between a child slowly starving, and a well fed, well loved child.

It wasn’t fair.

“I know it’s not fair, bird. But we’ll do something about it.” Mays placed her paw on the egg, her voice interrupting your thoughts.

As your heart was now residing in your throat, it didn’t have to make the high jump back up there when you jerked in alarm. “W-what? Did I… say that outloud or…”

Why did you feel dread crawling along your spine?

Nibs pulled out a chair at the table for Mays, taking a seat next to her. He had a look of regret crossed over his face, both ears drooped low. Mays pulled the egg from you to pat your hand, as if she were sorry for something.

“Bird… you aren’t as good at keeping secrets as you might have thought. We’ve known you’ve been a mage for years.”

In your defense, you did not explode, vent magic, or faint. Instead, you started hyperventilating. “Hhhhhhhh,” you no longer remembered how to breathe in. So this is how you would die… done in by a shock. You were _loads_ of fun at surprise birthday parties.

“Stars, you stubborn, half-wit, breath IN. In, girl!” Nibs bolted to his feet, slapping you on the back with an open palm.

Sucking a lungful of air made you cough, and you broke into a fit of wheezing, coughing, and sputtering. Your heart was racing and every time you took a gasp of air you could feel it slamming against your chest in a bid to escape. Between the wheezing and gasping, you could feel Mays squeezing your hand comfortingly.

You were being checked.

This brought on another bout of panic and tears gathered in your eyes as you struggled to get your lungs to work.

“Sorry! Sorry, just needed to make sure you weren’t dying on us!” Nibs apologized, rubbing at your back to try and get a rhythm for your lungs to follow.

“H-hhh… How?” You wheezed, one hand clutching at your chest and the other squeezing May’s paw firmly.

“How’d we know?” Nibs asked, leaning forward slightly so his head was even with your own. You were sitting, and he was almost at eye level with you. “Wasn’t hard to figure out. The kiln uses way less wood than it should,... WAY less. You drank like an elemental, during inappropriate times of the day at that. And y’sort of… well... ,” Nibs faltered at this last bit, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Oh for stars…,” Mays made a noise of disgust, “You’ve got magic in your blood. When you bleed, monsters can smell it.”

The panic is dying, leaving you shivering with something that has to do nothing with cold. “This whole time,... you knew?”

Regret clouded the rabbit’s features. “Yea. Almost the whole time.”

“I-I’m sorr-sorry.” You coughed, choking on a sob of guilt. “I thought--,”

“Nonono, don’t apologize. Stars, don’t. I thought you’d be upset if I found out.” Nibs hushed, paws patting your shoulder. “I didn’t want you to think I was prying into your personal business.”

Swallowing down a lump in your throat, you felt like you were fraying at the edges, “Asgore saw me using magic… and Gerson and Grillby too. We-... we had a deal: I’d give magic to the elemental egg, in exchange for them not telling anyone. But I thought you’d be angry for keeping it secret… or disappointed. Or hate me or--,”

Mays said your name, getting your attention “You know us better than that.” Mays scolded gently, squeezing your hand at her words. “It was your secret to keep. We didn’t want to pry. If you never checked us, we’d never have checked you unless we thought you were in danger.”

Your lungs decided to skip a few breaths, and you had to gasp for the next one they managed to take in. Why were monster’s so nice? If they were humans, they would have been angry for having a secret kept for so long, or disgusted.

“We’re monsters, bird. This is what monsters are. You keep comparing us to humans, but we’re not.” Nibs answered your unasked question, as if reading your mind.

“No, we’re not mind reading. That’s a whole other issue.” Mays assured you. And before you could ask or even _think_ the question, she answered it for you, “You literally are wearing your heart on your sleeve when you get upset. Your soul is very loud when you are upset, and your squishy human faces are very expressive. It’s really easy to guess what you are thinking. It’s adorable.” Mays’ paws frame your face, and give your cheeks a few experimental squashes, causing you to make a fish-face at her.

“Stawp.” Your struggle to speak with a bad case of pout-face.

Squishing your cheeks once more for emphasis, Mays lets you go and returns to holding your hand. “At least it’s only easy to read you when you are distressed. You are usually so calm or peaceful it’s hard to get a clear read on you.”

“I fake the peace a lot. I’m 90% panic, anger, or terror most of the time. I’ve entered that hazy zone of panic where everything turns off except basic functions… like sass.” You admit. “Thank you for not being disappointed in me.” The mood feels fragile, something that might break if the wrong thing is said.

So of course, Nibs trips straight into the conversation. “Thank you for never being afraid or disgusted of me.”

“Thank you for being a fluffy-puff who it impossible to be intimidated or scared of.” You snark.

“Thank you for having an actual, functional sense of humor instead of being a sapient pile of salt.” Nibs retorts.

“Puns.” You snort. “I’ll do it. Don’t make me do it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Nibs calls you on that bluff.

Joke’s on him. It wasn’t a bluff.

“Your _pun_ -ishment will be listening to my _pun-_ chline. And it will be _pun-_ derful.” The overwhelming desire to drop awful puns about puns until Nibs was begging for mercy was tempting. But Mays shoved a soft dinner roll into your mouth, ending your tirade before you could even get started.

Mays is looking at her husband is disappointment. “If she does any more of those, you are sleeping on the couch.”

“Ffnnnfpn!” You agree.

“That goes for you too.” Mays gave you a sharp look. “Now have some supper.”

You manage to look properly repentant. Removing the rest of the roll from your mouth so you could finish eating, Mays pushed the cooling cup of ginger tea into your hands. It felt nice just to hold the warm cup in your palms. Dinner, or what was left of the meal the family had earlier, was some sort of cooked bean casserole, with bread and butter. Fairly simple fare, but you’d been traveling all day, and burning through your magic always made you hungry.

“So,” You say, looking down at the tea. “Now what?”

Mays is carefully adjusting the egg in her lap. “Well, nothing. Nothing needs to change.”

You give her a confused look. “Then… why... ,”

Nibs managed to use his powers of _looking at your damn face_ (apparently) to tell what the problem was before you found the words. “Because, we wanted you to know that it’s not you against the world. You have friends you can trust here. And if everything goes wrong down the mountain, you are always safe here.”

You wish you had words to tell them how much it meant to you to hear that. But they already know. Giving May’s paw a firm squeeze, you rub at your face with your other hand, trying to smudge the blush that was burning away. You felt like a giant tub of awkward when you were around people, but you didn’t regret it.

“I’ll go find the blankets for you. Watch the little one, would you?” Mays is passing you the egg again before you can protest. You probably wouldn’t have protested at this point anyway. The monster soul went into excited laps around the egg when you touched the shell.

“You can check them, they won’t mind. That goes for any of us. Monster don’t mind being checked.” Nibs prodded you, watching as you toyed with the egg gently.

Even with permission… you couldn’t bring yourself to check an adult monster. You lifted your gaze to Nibs, and felt it would be like getting up and punching him in the face if you checked him. What your brain knew versus what your heart felt were at odds and would not agree.

“Baby steps.” You shook your head. “Maybe someday, but today is not that day.”

Nibs nodded, understanding. “Baby steps. And that goes for your magic too. Don’t shut it out again. You blew up your… no we’re not talking about this.” He quickly changed the subject much to your eternal gratitude.

After a pause, he asks, “What’s the plan when you get back?” Nibs fanned his toes, stretching his legs as he leaned back in the chair.

The plan was awkward, long, and probably going to cause a backache. You had to clear as much of the debris from the ruined kiln as you could away, cover the wreckage with a tarp to hide the damage, and at least attempt to clear the spray of ash and charcoal away. Then you had to deconstruct the canopy on the wagon and load a literal ton of bricks onto it. After that, it was small things: make sure the chickens had feed for while you were gone, tidy up, lock up, and wait for the caravan to arrive.

You simplified it down for Nibs as you finished off the leftover dinner. “Just neaten up before the caravan arrives. It’ll take a day to get to the city, maybe a day at most down there, and potentially a full day or more to return.”

Finishing off the last of dinner and draining your tea, you felt pleasantly satisfied. Maybe not full, it took a lot of food to keep a human going and Mays didn’t have enough leftovers to top your stomach off. You would say nothing though, you’d been hungry before, and it was just for a day. Lifting the egg up to cradle it in the crook of your arm, you helped return your dishes to the sink.

“Hey… what do you think is going to happen with Gerson? And the other guards from the river village?” You ask, the question having been burning all day in your head.

Nibs leaned back in the chair, balancing it on only two legs. “Hmm, well, Gerson is held of high regard. Like… _really_ high regard. Once, he fended off an entire battalion of humans with just twelve guards, two scouts, and a trebuchet! He’s legendary for his defensive strategies!” It made sense that a tortoise would be high in defense. Plus the fact he always had his monster’s best interest in mind. “I bet King Magore would offer him a captain position here. And Home could always use more guards, so the forces from the riverlands would be asked if they wanted to keep their positions.”

“And Grillby?” You shouldn’t have asked that question, but it slipped out without your permission. Obviously he was part of the guard, you didn’t need to inquire about him specifically.

One ear slowly lifted as the rabbit looked at you, considering something. Then his eyes widened, and a slow, broad grin began to spread across his face.

“No.” You said, firmly.

The grin got wider.

“Stop it!”

Nibs started to laugh.

“No!!”

“No what?” Mays poked her head into the kitchen, a bundle of blankets in her arms.

“He’s smiling!” You scowl at Nibs, but the monster was not intimidated.

“Oh, that cad.” Mays rolled her eyes. “Such a lack of manners!”

The broad grin over the rabbit’s face was held in place as he rocked in the chair, looking smug. “Would you like me to acquire after him? See what his plans are?”

“NO!” The blush was back. Hellfire. Why didn’t you just paint yourself black with soot? Then no one could see you blushing. Lifting the egg to your face, you-mock whisper to the soul, “Kid, if your dad ever starts to tease you, come to your aunt. I’ll floor him for you.”

The soul fluttered at your voice, pleased at being spoken to.

Mays looked surprised, dropping the top blankets to the floor. “A-aunt?”

Oh dear, did you go too far? “I-it’s a human thing. Family friends are often called ‘aunt’ or ‘uncle’ by children since it’s easier for them to understand rather than ‘that obnoxious brickmaking mage that teases your dad’.”

“You’ll be a great aunt!” Mays almost doesn’t let you finish your explanation, instead rushing forward to you and clasping her paws together.

You retort with a brilliant flush of red, “Not half as great of a mother that you’ll be!”

“Flatterer!” Mays shouts back.

“You saint!” You snap.

“Are… you two fighting… or… I… I don’t even know.” Nibs look floored. “This is the kindest fight I’ve never witnessed.”

As with all monster fights, this one ended with a hug. You really didn’t know what was going anymore. You were physically and emotionally wiped out from your trip up the mountain and meeting the king. Returning the egg to Mays, you took over making your bed out of a nest of blankets in front of the hearth. Your clothing was dry enough to put back on, but your cloak was still a bit soggy. Mays paced the kitchen and cooed at the egg while you finished making a bed.

“Thanks, both of you. Sorry that I--,”

“No! No apologies for watching out for yourself! I won’t hear it.” Mays folded her arms.

Your mouth his half hanging open as your brain processed this. “Okay, then I guess I’m not-sorry. But…. thanks.” You folded to your knees by the bed, hoping the red firelight masked your blush.

“That’s the spirit! We like you as you are.”

Those are words you didn’t think you’d ever hear ever again. You swallowed thickly, blinking as tears burned in your eyes and keeping them down out of stubborn will alone.

After bidding you goodnight, Mays and Nibs left to their room, taking the egg with them. Snuggled into the blankets in front of the hearth, you could almost close your eyes and pretend you were at home sitting in front of the kiln. The pop and crackle of embers was a hypnotic song, one that you loved to hear. You could remember all the nights you spent working late, sitting up by the kiln and listening to the fire as someone listens to a speaker telling a story. Warm fingers of flame danced across the fresh logs as if reaching out.

… you are reminded of a warm hand reaching towards your shoulder. The uncomfortable crackle of flame as it roars blue from liquor. A warm pull of something you couldn’t quite explain.

Your magic uncurled from that tight coil you held it at, and the flames danced a bit higher as you drifted off to sleep.  Half asleep, your eyes drifted closed and you murmured, “Shhh, you surly grump. I’m right here.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist Note: Discovered things that it is not fun do to... pressure wash your own foot. Sitting on a crumbling wood deck and getting splinters in your ass. Trying to get said splinters out of your ass. Here's my weekend update as promised. Now to go sit in a bathtub.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't figure where to break this chapter. This one and the next one bled together, so I broke this chapter slightly long.
> 
> Also, update is probably going to be early Saturday or super late on Sunday. Some friends and my god-dog are coming to visit. I must pupper-proof the place. And then give that dog some bones before he decides cords are delicious. EMERGENCY CLEANING MODE: ACTIVATED.

Dawn was a strange creeping progressive state at the top of the mountain. Down at the base of Ebott dawn was heralded by rising across the far horizon and birds chirping far too early. But at the top of the mountain the tall valley blocked the rising sun. First the sky turned a warm pink, then a clear blue, and somewhere around ten in the morning the sun would have finally leaned over the top of the mountain.

You stared at the sky in confusion. Was it dawn? Was it midday? How the hell did monsters tell time up here? Mays had woken you at what you assumed to be dawn to prepare breakfast. You helped how you could in the small kitchen, mostly by scrubbing and chopping vegetables, and pulling dishes down to set the table for the rabbit’s massive family.

At what you assumed to be eight am, there was a stampede of paws as the entire family arrived from their rooms or nearby homes for breakfast. There were never enough chairs, so the family ate in rotation, with the children sitting in parent’s laps and the young and old being made to eat first.

“Wotomelon!” The young rabbit child spotted you immediately, and would probably forever remember you were ‘the watermelon-human’.

It was actually one of the more flattering things you’ve been called.

“Not yet! I haven’t even left the mountain! One week, then I’ll be back.” You reminded little Gail as they bounced excitedly around your feet.

“And speaking of leaving the mountain, the guard got the wagon hooked back to the oxen. They’re ready to go when you are.” Nibs was trying to dodge around some uncles who were persistently arguing on what the weather was going to be like today. The general consensus was ‘snowy with a chance of cold’. One uncle kept insisting it was going to be ‘cold with a chance of snow’.

You had no idea what the difference was.

“Thanks Nibs. I should be heading back then. If I can get the farm back in order before the caravan, the better.” You pushed to your feet. There was a chorus of farewells from the rabbit family, a few bemoaning you were leaving too soon, and most of the children were unhappy at your departure. While not the first time you had met most of Nibs and Mays family, you were always overwhelmed by just how large the family was.

Pulling on your cloak and jamming your thick boots back on, you paused to give Mays a hug goodbye, and gently pat the egg she held. “See you in a week then, bird!” Mays smiled.

It took a good twenty minutes to say goodbye to the entire family, and you would never remember all of their names. You were almost sure _Nibs_ didn’t know all his own relative’s names. After you realized you had shaken Round, Fluffy Yellow Bunny’s hand twice and couldn’t remember how many times a child in a striped green shirt asked to be lifted into the air, you quickly shouted one last goodbye over the crowd and slipped out the door before you were pulled into yet another round of farewells.

You panted in exhaustion once you stepped into the cool air. “Is that… normal? To say goodbye to everyone twice?” You asked Nibs.

“Twice? I think that was at least three times. … and yes.” He smiled awkwardly. “I think the reason we rabbits are so fast is because if we weren’t we’d never get anywhere on time for all the hellos and goodbyes we have to say.”

Seemed to make sense to you! You were familiar enough with Home to be able to navigate to the stables, but you gawked at the new buildings. The city kept growing in a massive twisting sprawl, with old buildings having grown upwards now at the lack of room. Small gardens still flourished in the snow, some with magic to keep the warm, and some with panes of glass built around them to make a greenhouse. The narrow streets were packed with more varieties of monsters that you had ever seen before. Most didn’t even look twice at you, your long cloak and mantle pulled up made you look just like any other tall monster.

Nibs called your name softly, “… can I check you before you leave? It’s just to check your magic levels, and make sure you are doing well. If you aren’t comfortable, I’ll trust your judgment on how you feel.” He raised his paws as if to ward off your look of concern.

You didn’t like the sensation of being checked, but you also didn’t like going to doctors or healers… despite how necessary it was sometimes. Perhaps a bit of prevention would do you good. “Ok, I guess. Um, go for it?”

Nibs nodded, one ear up and one ear down. The _check_ bumped into you like a groping hand, and despite being ready for it, you stiffened uncomfortably. It wasn’t quite as awful as you remember most checks being. The rabbit gave a hum of consideration, looking you over as he rubbed at his chin.

Shaking off the feeling of awkward magic, you pulled the mantle of your cloak down a little further. “So, what’s the news?”

“You are of good health after that cold, your magic is _really_ good, like… almost recovered. No change in any other stats. And you seem at peace.” Nibs reported. He paused, pulling at his scarf uncomfortably, “I was worried you’d be upset from dealing with all of my family. I know you don’t like crowds.”

It took a minute for you to realize you hadn’t been distressed at the sheer amount of monsters had been in the kitchen with you, and you hadn’t feel anxiety at all. “I… huh. Yeah, I guess I’m used to your family. Or fluffy puffball bunnies aren’t scary.”

“Pft, I’m terrifying, I’ll have you know.” Nibs perked both ears up, giving him an extra two feet of height… which _almost_ made him as tall as you.

“Yes, I’m trembling in terror.” You grabbed the heavy cloak pin and rattled it, sounding rather that teeth chattering. “Things I’m afraid of: storms, the clergy, heights, mustaches, and _extreme fluff._ ”

About to sass about, Nibs’ leaned sideways and peered into the stables. “Actually, you are about to be completely stricken with a case of the terrors then.”

Turning to see what it was inside the stable, you spotted a pale shape sitting in the back of your wagon, right next to a towering inferno. “Grillby? What are… Asgore?”

Spotting you, Asgore cried your name out and launched himself like a furry cannonball at you. His charge caught you and managed to _almost_ lift you off the ground in his excitement.

“Oh nono, you are not coming with. There’s so much for me to do before the caravan arrives, and you are needed here.” You protested, going limp instead trying to pry the kid off of you. It would have been a futile effort, Asgore was clearly determined to cuddle the hellfire out of you. Asgore made an indecipherable mumble into your cloak, snuggling his face in against your neck. You noticed he had bathed, the ash and soot from the attack washed out of his fur and his normal pristine fur perfect again. He also no longer smelled like a hayfield filled with wet dogs. The improvement was a relief.

Meanwhile, _you_ smelled like a hayfield filled with wet dogs and burning logs. Not so much an improvement. You needed a bath.

“Did your dad say you could come with back down the mountain?” You pressed.

At this, Asgore stiffened a bit, a soft bleat escaping as he loosened his grasp. “No. But I could--”

“You _could_ listen to your father. He does care for you, and he’d be upset if you got hurt too. I’m going to do a lot of heavy lifting, boyo, too heavy for you.” You soothed, carefully pulling one arm off of your back.

“But…”

“But if you wait until I get back from the caravan, you could ask your dad if you could spend the night after that. I’ll need help unpacking my supplies from the wagon before I bring it up the mountain.” Carrot and Stick method of child-handling, avoid the hassle of an argument by a bribe at a later date. As opposed to Nib’s version of the Carrot and Stick method… which is literally putting a carrot on a stick, and letting the children chase after it.

Rabbit children were so easy to handle sometimes.

Asgore nodded furiously, his ears flapping. Whether it was the prospect of spending the night, or the idea that he could help that had him excited, you weren’t quite sure.

Moving forward, ruffling Asgore’s hair as you walked passed, you made it to the wagon where the oxen were waiting. Grillby was sitting in the back of the cargo bay, both arms folded over the bag and patiently waiting. Waiting for what – you had no idea. “Um. Does she need another charge of magic?” You asked.

Grillby’s eyes shot over to Nibs, surprise curling in his flames that you mentioned ‘magic’ with the rabbit present.

“It’s ok, he knows. Apparently, I’m awful at secrets.” You shrug. “But I have enough magic built up to give her what I’ve got before I leave.” Holding out both hands, you wait for the fire monster to hand you the egg.

Instead, he nods and then lifts the strap over your head to drop it on your shoulder. Not really sure why he’s done this if you are just going to give it back, but you are quick to fish the egg out of the bag. It takes almost no focus now to vent magic, the child within absorbing magic greedily.

“I’m coming with.” Grillby’s voice caught you by surprise, and you accidentally stopped venting magic. The soul gave a call that she wasn’t done yet, battering against the egg in frustration.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize softly to the little spark, turning your magic on again. “What do you mean, ‘coming with’? I have stuff I need to get done before the caravan arrives. You _can’t_ be there when it shows up!”

There was a short flare of flames as Grillby stared you down. “I’m coming. You need to learn control. Gerson’s orders.”

Nibs had that shit-eating crafty grin on his face that you found unsettling. “Actually, this works! Who better to learn fire magic from than a fire elemental?”

You fire a glare back at the rabbit. This was _not_ helping. You could see the rabbit’s ulterior motives all over everything. You could feel Gerson’s hand pulling strings here too. And you didn’t like any of it.

“Plus, you could still give the egg any magic she needs. It’s a win-win-win situation all the way around. You learn control. The kid gets magic. Grillby…,” Nibs faltered, not really sure if Grillby was getting anything out of this deal except for carrying out Gerson’s promise. Nibs took a guess, “-- proves he’s a functioning monster and gets to rejoin the guard?”

At this, Grillby nodded.

The small soul finally stopped absorbing magic, your sparks skittering over the shell of the egg before you pulled them back. The crack was still spanning the shell, just as awful as it had been before. “Couldn’t the healers do anything for her? Fix the shell? Find a way to get her love? Anything?”

Grillby’s flames guttered low. Wincing, face drawn, he shook his head.

‘ _I couldn’t save my daughter… maybe I can save his…’_ The thought crept through your mind, igniting a sense of justice. You’d failed once, maybe this time you could succeed.

“It’ll be alright. Between my magic and yours, she should be well cared for. Not like I need my magic for anything, she can have it. After that, all she really needs is you, right?” you remark, offering a soft smile to the elemental.

There was an orange rush of fire, and you look up just as a palm made of flame reached towards you to pull your hood down. Fingers twisted in the fabric as his warm knuckles rubbed against the side of your jaw. Cold should have been biting at your exposed ears but instead you were basking in warmth.

Shit, what… did you… umm… Your brain apparently decided to take some kind of early holiday, packed it’s bags, and bolted, leaving you dazed and confused. Heat roared across your face, and you couldn’t tell if it was from Grillby or your own blush. Was this another odd monster gesture of thanks? Monsters seemed to be very touchy, always holding hands or patting you on the shoulder. Even Gerson had hugged you shortly after introducing himself. To them, you were an emotionally constipated mess. (God DAMMIT Gerson… why is constipation coming into EVERY aspect of your life now?) Not sure if you were making the right choice, you tipped your head and tucked your chin, moving your head so Grillby’s knuckles were now touching your forehead. Like the greeting, right? You looked up at the fire monster with apprehension.

His flames were shivering with red and sparks crackled across his shoulders. Whatever expression Grillby was wearing, it was indescribable. His mouth was partially agape and eyes were glazed over embers. A sharp breath of air stoked all his fire until the flames went blue and heat caused the air around him to warp and writhe. What did blue mean, other that super heated temperatures? Rage, embarrassment, had you just disgusted him?

Welp, you fucked that up. Good job. Brain, you may commit this to memory as well. Just add it to the collection.

“S-sohry,” air hissed out of your lungs as you felt your face burn hot. Oh good, the stable started to sway as you grew dizzy as all the blood rushed to your head. “I thought it was that greeting where you do the hand thing but oh god I’m never going to be able to do that one ever again without feeling like an idiot and I think I should just throw myself off the mountain now, bye.” In a single breath, you babbled your word-splosion and stepped back, the yolk of the oxen bumping into your spine. “Cows, we must throw ourselves off the mountain now. Please trample me in the process.”

Nibs, being the little shit that he was, had a massive grin on his face with both of his arms crossed over his chest. How badly you wanted to chuck a wad of mud at that smug expression. But all the barn had it in was cow pats… which was taking it a little too far if you started lobbing those around. You swore, from now on, you would do _human only_ gestures. Much less of a chance of you fucking it all up (but… as per your Unfortunate Incidents quota you had to hit, clearly not impossible to mess up even then).

Seizing the male ox by the nose ring, you gave a gentle but firm pull to encourage him to follow after you. Grunting, the ox followed pulling the other along at their normal pokey pace. You jerked your hood back over your head, the cowl swallowing your expressions as you ducked your head down. Over the past few days you had been flushed so often it must have appeared that you had a permanent sunburn.

“Um. I’ll walk you guys to the gate. And then hugs.” Asgore dashed forward to keep up with you, his paw reaching out to catch the back of your cloak.

“That’s fine. Mind the puddles, Just Asgore.” You smile, despite the whole situation, Asgore always could make you feel better.

There was a scrape of boot on wood, and the groan of timbers from the wagon. Looking over your shoulder, you saw that Grillby had seated himself in the driver’s seat of the wagon, picking up the reins from their hook. Letting the oxen’s nose ring go, you widened your stride a little to get out of the way of the animals if they suddenly felt the need to charge forward… hey it _could_ happen. Just because the oxen were as lazy as a couple of leathery rocks, doesn’t mean they couldn’t suddenly break into a charge when the mood struck them… which was often ‘ _never’_ , but the minds of cows are mysterious things. You had made the wall around your farm out of stone because the stupid cows were forever pushing over the wood fence posts in an attempt to get at the ‘greener’ grass on the other side… which didn’t actually exist.

So in short, cows are idiots.

“Puddle, kid,” Reaching over, you grabbed Asgore around the middle and lifted him off his feet and carried him through a puddle that spanned the whole road. “Can’t have you getting your dainty toebeans all muddy.”

“My feet aren’t dainty!” Asgore mock-protested, kicking his legs with glee. You plunged into the puddle, your heavy leather boots waterproof and dry. Once on the other side, you put the kid down, only to sweep him up a few steps later with another puddle flooded the road.

“Seems like the top of the mountain is just as soggy as the bottom right now,” you mussed, shifting Asgore so he was thrown over your shoulder instead, like a giant, white furry sack of potatoes.

Nibs kept pace with the wagon, jumping the puddles in a single bound. “Usually it freezes solid up here. Tomorrow, it’ll be like a frozen lake.”

You made a noise of disgust. While you had lived on this mountain for five years, you still hated the snow that would be coming. With snow came the need to shovel a walkway to the barn and kiln, the need to check on the roof ever few weeks, and the inevitable ring of ice that formed around the kiln from repeated melting/freezing of water. In winter, the rivers froze completely over, making it impossible for you to get clay to continue making bricks. You usually took the winter season off to do other things, like chop wood, can vegetables, and attempt some hobby that usually would end in disaster. Last year, you had attempted to learn to knit. You were successful… sort of. All you could do were scarves. You suppose you could knit a sweater for a snake, but anything beyond that would turn into a jumbled tangle of yarn.

With the gates of Home looming ahead, you put Asgore back on the ground. “This is where we part ways, boyo.”

Asgore gave a long whine, taking two steps forward towards you and leaning down so his cheek was pressed against the top of your cloak. Your hand reached up to rub against his ear, and the kid sighed happily.

“I know, but it’s just a week. Once the caravan is done, you can come down anytime… as long as you aren’t making your dad angry. Please no angry dad-king.” You soothed.

Grillby was watching you. Even with your back to the wagon, you could feel your skin prickle from his gaze. Had you just done another monster faux paus? Or was Grillby still steaming from your earlier social suicide?

“Ok.” Asgore finally pulled back, looking greatly unhappy. His two large canines that barely poked from his upper lip were biting down on the bottom, trying to hide the pout.

“Safe journeys. I’ll make a pass down by your farm, then scout the area. If anything is up, I’ll find you on the road.” Nibs held his paws out, and you took them both. Her gave you a warm squeeze, then stepped back and in a flash was gone. All you saw was the splash of a puddle much further down the road that he had dashed through, kicking up a gout of water.

Taking a moment to adjust the strap of the egg-bag, you put your hand on the satchel to check the soul inside. The child was dozing fitfully, stocked up on magic and sleepy. Reaching out to catch the lip of the wagon, you hefted yourself up the side. Your skin immediately prickled and burned as you dropped into the seat next to Grillby. Asgore waved from the gates, bouncing on his toes as the wagon rolled down the road.

And now, for the longest, most awkward wagon ride you’ve ever taken. “Come’on, let’s go home. There’s a bed with our name on it,” you said. Then you promptly bit your tongue. “No wait! There’s a bed with MY name on it, as it’s my bed, and also too small to share but--” There was no saving this conversation. “Just drive off the first cliff you come to. Thanks.” Sinking into your cloak until you were obscured entirely, you were determined to turn into a potato. No one expected things from a potato, and potatoes couldn’t insult you by opening their mouths.

Grillby was staring, one brow cocked, and a look of someone who had just watched some kind of great disaster strike the land.

Yeah… well… potatoes have eyes too. You stared back. If it was going to turn into a stare down, you were determined to…never mind. Stare down ended. Grilly jerked his head away to follow the curve of the road, very pointedly not looking at you now. Victory for potatoes everywhere.

The return drive down the mountain was much shorter like you thought it would be. The oxen had a lighter load and gravity to assist them down the slope. The only thing that slowed you down was the poor condition of the road. More than once you had to get out of the wagon and walk the oxen around steep bends where the road was crumbling along the edge. Every time you did that, you felt the urge to drop to your knees, cover your eyes, and pretend you did not see the ledge. The second time that happened, Grillby got out and guided the oxen around the hairpin turn. _You_ sat in the wagon, trembling under your cloak, trying hard not to stare at the dizzying drop into space.

“I don’t like it.” You muttered, pulling your eyes away from the ledge. You knew you had Grillby’s attention on you, your skin was doing that strange prickling thing again. “The… drop. I don’t like heights.” You shiver.

The elemental gave a hum, as if considering this. “Thunderstorms.” He rasped.

For half a moment, you jerk your gaze to the sky, afraid of a stormcloud looming ready to drop deadly lightning down on you. But the sky was clear. Then you realize _that_ was what Grillby was afraid of: Thunderstorms.

“Ah. Yeah. Me too. I don’t like the noise. Or… the getting wet bit either.” Your fingers find the bag under your cloak, playing with one of the toggles idly.

Grillby nods.

As the hours pass, the young monster’s soul started calling out for magic. This time Grillby swooped in to pluck the egg out of the bag. “Wait, are you going to-,” was all you managed to get out before the egg went up in flames. “GAH! NO!”

But the egg did not burn. Instead it sat there, wreathed in flames, the soul dancing merrily in the heat as it peeled magic in. Grillby did not release sparks of magic like you did, he _burned._

“You’re recovered enough to do this? I mean, aren’t you still hurt from just the other day?” You leaned back out of the way, trying to escape the smothering heat that was bathing the egg.

“Check me.”

“No.” You fire back without hesitation. “I’m going to go on your word that you are fine. And if you aren’t, then I’m going to have to turn this wagon around and go right back up the mountain!”

Grillby gave a rumbling sigh, crackling in frustration. “I’m fine.” He says, though the effort of speaking seems to show the lie.

“Is your throat … sore? Monsters don’t get colds, do they?” You ask, sitting a bit straighter when the blaze of magic being transferred to the egg finally stops.

The fire monster shakes his head, no, not sick.

You mull it over. “Permanent damage from the… rain?”

Shrugging, Grillby turns the egg over, examining the soul within. “Check me,” he said again. If he doesn’t know, would a check reveal anything?

“No. ...Why? Are you lying about your injuries?”

If Nibs were here, he’d probably be pulling his ears in frustration.

“First lesson in control: Check. Until you can check, there is no control,” he spoke in what should have been even tones, but the rumble of embers made it sound painful.

Gritting your teeth, you tensed and shuddered. You didn’t even remember learning how to _check_ while at the academy. It just came naturally apparently. All you could remember was mage students were punished with extra homework or detention if they checked other students or teachers. The sages were quick to label it as lewd and immoral. It was crude, vile, and going to get you sent to isolation for a full day if you were caught doing it.

But… you weren’t at the academy any more. Every monster couldn’t be wrong about this, could they? “It really is the first step to getting over this...,” you hesitated, damn near saying ‘magical constipation’, which would have been the final nail in the grave of your shame today. “...this Magic block?” Good job! Shame avoided!

Grillby nodded. You peered into his face, looking for any sign of deceit. But the elemental had a poker face unlike any you had ever seen. He seemed relaxed, though he couldn’t meet your eyes for more than a few seconds before dropping his gaze back to the egg every time.

Shit… you were actually going to do it. “Let me… warm up first.” Balled your fists in preparation to make the check, then realized your unintentional fire pun. Only one thing to do… you were going to have to make it appear deliberate by dropping _more puns._ “After all, my magic isn’t so _hot_ , I get a bit _tinder_ if I overuse it.  You _inferno_ what I mean.”

The first pun might have gone unnoticed… but not the next few. Like the little shit you were, you made sure you called out those puns. Grillby slowly turned to look at you.  The look that said he was expecting to meet with calamity or disaster was back.

Hello, Grillby. Meet ‘Greater Disaster’ Mage!

That’s when you checked him. You took a breath and reached out with your magic, trying  _very_ hard not to get the mental image that you had just goosed the monster. His eyes widened a bit at the contact, but he looked mostly disgusted from your puns earlier.

_Name: Grillby_  
_Lvl: 1_  
_HP: 440/940-_  
_AT: 95_  
_DF: 40  
_ _Status: As many awful jokes as Grillby has heard, those were new awful jokes._

That was a mixed bag of feelings. On one hand, you are really glad you didn’t get more status than you cared to see. The check felt like you slapped him on the back, which was a bit rude but at least not falling into the embarrassingly rude category. On the other hand, Grillby had clearly heard all the best fire-related puns already, leaving you to scrape the bottom of the barrel. His stats didn’t show too much other than the strange mark beside his health. Though he seemed healed, the mark seemed to show some sort of… penalty to HP?  Was that why it hurt him to speak?

Grillby’s own check on you caught you off guard, and you rocked back as magic crawled across your skin. Nope, you did not like that one bit. But… it had you curious.

“What did mine say? My status?” You queried.

“... you have an awful taste in jokes.” There was a crackle of amusement in his voice as he tucked the egg back into the bag. “Mine?”

“That you apparently have a collection of awful jokes, and mine just got added to the list.” A smile twisted your lips momentarily. “But I guess that means I’ll just have to try harder.”

“Please don’t,” Grillby groaned, palming his forehead and brushing the curling fire back.

Considering the situation, you decided it would be best if you didn’t torment the elemental with awful jokes. You had been told your sense of humor was … hard to digest sometimes. “I really don’t like being checked still. Can you… not?”

The brilliant citrine of Grillby’s gaze darted in your direction, only able to meet your own stare for a few moments. He gave a hesitating nod, then frowned.

“I mean, if I’m obviously injured, or in trouble, or struggling with something, I will at least not freak out if you do it. But… it feels … uncomfortable.” Dropping your gaze to your hands, you clench your fingers against the wool cloak. You were not going to tell him it felt like someone coming up and grabbing your boobs and swatting you on the ass. HELLFIRE NO.

There is a puff of smoke as Grillby sighs, a resigned sound. “Keep practicing. I won’t check unless necessary,” he assures you. Then he cleared his throat, “But. You have to keep checking. Practice.”

Groaning, you slump back against the wagon. You had a feeling that checking was going to be a requirement ‘learning control’. Well fine, you could deal with it. “Want me to take the reins? You lost a large chunk of magic there taking care of the kid. Or… health… or… same thing?” You hold your hand out for the reins.

Grillby passes them to you without any hesitation, nodding as he drops them into your palm. Then he lifts the strap of the bag over your head, causing you to duck low under his arm as he tucks it on your shoulder.

“Are you going to take a rest in the back?” you ask, curiously.

Grillby is digging around in his pocket, and after a moment he withdraws a metal flask, not unlike the one you use to carry liquor around in.

Oh god, do you _ever_ need a drink, your mouth starts to water on sight of the flask. “Please tell me there is alcohol in there.” At least you managed to not sound like a desperate bar fly, but you are approaching the limits of your endurance. You _need_ a drink.

Uncapping the flask, Grillby takes a short drink, then gestures to himself. “Check, then drink,” he says.

This is the stick and carrot method all over again, with booze being used as the carrot, and magic as the stick. But you don’t even care if you are being manipulated. That drink has your name on it! Checking him, you noticed his health has gone up a small amount just from that one drink. You also noticed his status change.

_Status: Grillby favors bourbon, but this swill will have to do._

“Swill works for me, gimme.” You fan your fingers, expectantly.

The warm canteen is put in your hand, and you take an eager drink. It’s… not the _worst_ drink you ever had. But it certainly is in the top five. Swill is right! But the bitter bite of liquor drowns the persistent itch you’ve been having for the past day. Sighing as the burning liquid goes down, you hold the flask back out to him and can feel the drink do its job. Your magic falls calm, and your tension bleeds away.

Your skin is tingling, and this time you aren’t sure if it’s because of the liquor or Grillby’s stare again. Steeling yourself, you keep your back straight and encourage the oxen onwards. The sensation crawls down your back, making itself at home somewhere above your hips. It was like being checked but without the sharp scrutiny, and it set your nerves on end. Twisting on the bench slightly, you peered over your shoulder to glare at Grillby and tell him to knock it off. You apparently, you didn’t need to. After having a drink, the fire monster drifted into a restless sleep. There were no nightmares, but his face was drawn, and a jagged frown would spread with a hiss as he tossed.

The prickling along your back continued. Was it magic? Was he using magic on you while he slept? Frustration faded away and you were left with … pity? No, that wasn’t quite right. Understanding. You knew what it was like to lose the stranglehold you had on your magic while you slept. Waking up to things smoldering or on fire happened all the time when you were a kid. Even now, you would find items around your room strangely blackened, but never damaged. It was like your magic went wandering when you slept, and found things to poke at.

So basically, Grillby was poking you. Above the hips… with his magic… which.. Sounded _really_ wrong.

“Hellfire, this better work. I’m at my embarrassment allotment for the day.” With gritted teeth, you sucked in a breath of brisk mountain air. Looking back at the elemental again, you raised your hand until it was a few inches in front of him, the warmth from his fire spreading across your palm. Swallowing down your nerves, you released a slow trickle of magic, much like you did with the egg.

Immediately, Grillby’s face lost its pinched look and was replaced by a placid expression. He gave a slow sigh, steam rising off his exposed flames as he rolled to his back. The magic pressing against your back was gone.

“So,” you whispered, looking down at the egg in the bag, “I guess I’m some kinda of… monster nightmare wrangler. Let me know if you have nightmares too, kiddo.” Stroking the shell, the soul within thrilled at the touch, bumping into the egg happily. For the next few hours, the only sound was the wooden creak of the wagon, the snort of the oxen, and the soft crackle of Grillby’s fire as he slept peacefully.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys have Eclipse plans that don't involve burning out your retinas (no seriously DO NOT look at it directly without special glasses)  
> This chapter was originally half of the previous one, so the division between the two was really hard to break apart. Have the continuation of the last chapter!
> 
> Also, cleaning plus work has been destroying my will to write. I'm quickly burning through my backlog of chapters I have written in advance. Regular updates still Wed and Sat for the time being, but that might be changing to once a week unless I can figure out how to do the writes again.
> 
> -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The sun was starting its descent behind the mountain when the wagon creaked into the farm, the oxen snorting in excitement at seeing the barn. You, meanwhile, felt only anxiety. You had four days to clean up _this_ mess to be something less suspicious, and have everything ready to go when the caravan arrived.

“Hey,” tentatively, you called out to Grillby, hoping to wake him. He had slept the rest of the way down the mountain peacefully without any further incident.His flames flickering yellow briefly as he fought against consciousness. Hesitating, you changed your mind halfway through rousing him. You could remember half dazed and sleep dulled memories from the past few days that Grillby did not sleep well. Nightmares plagued him almost every night. If he was sleeping soundly in the back of the wagon, maybe you should leave him like that for now as you worked. Grillby looked rough, smudges of charcoal under his eyes and his flames in disarray. The armor looked uncomfortable to sleep in, not to mention heavy. Pulling the bag from your shoulder, you tucked the satchel against Grillby’s side, hoping the egg got some sort of benefit from being close to her uncle at least.

Backing off from the wagon, you were struck with indecision. What were you supposed to do about sleeping arrangements now? And how long did this training Gerson insisted on last for? In fact, what you were supposed to do about the caravan arriving in a few days, tell Grillby to hide? Where do you hide a six foot tall walking campfire?

Why was nothing ever easy?

First things first, you had to do something about the mess as fast as possible. Unhooking the oxen, they quickly rushed to their stalls and were content in not moving a single inch after they had been fed. You understood them: if you had the choice, you’d rush right into your bedroom and turn into a potato until the caravan arrived too. Nibs had left a note scrawled in the ash and dirt that he had fed the chickens while checking on your farm. God bless his furry little heart. This just left the worst of the cleanup to do.

Pulling your cloak off and tossing it on the top of the ruined kiln, you started by carting the stray bricks and ruined stone to a pile near the oven. You found one of the kiln doors tumbled against the edge of the barn in a pile of charcoal, and the inner metal lining of the kiln was shredded and twisted, but seemed to all be there as well. Strange metal pieces that you weren’t sure how they were to fit into the kiln were everywhere, each of them carefully placed in a crate until you could figure out what to do with them.

And strangest of all was the half melted, ruined sword of raw iron. The weapon had been melted and cooled in a twisted wreckage. Had you done this do the cutthroats weapons? The sword was so twisted it was more usable as a club than a slashing weapon.

You were checked. You cringed.

“Hey!” Turning, you scowled over your shoulder. A few seconds later Grillby stumbled out of the barn, his fire burning low and flames in disarray.

Snapping his fingers and pointing to himself, you got the point that he wanted you to check him. Practice control or monster communication, whatever the reason. It took more resolve than than the last time to manage a check. Your magic felt… strained. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like the invasion of privacy you had been conditioned to avoid from the Academy.

_Status: Grillby woke to find you gone and checked before he spotted you. Wake him, next time._

Huh, that was… strange news. “You can check without actually seeing the other person?”

Sighing, Grillby nodded. Then he pointed from you, to himself and stepped back into the barn out of sight.

“You… want me to check you again, at this moment?” It took some impressive willpower to keep the whine out of your voice. You felt tired, hungry, and grumpy. If anything, you had earned the right to whine for a bit with all the manual labor you had just done.

The answer was a crackling sound and a hum of affirmation.

“... alright. But I have no idea what I’m doing, as per usual,” you grumble. If the last check you did was hard, this one was almost impossible. Why was it so difficult? You had plenty of magic ready to go. The check almost didn’t find a target, your own magic blindly groping unseen in the barn. Once you grazed against Grillby, and then over-corrected until you fondled a chicken with your magic.

The chicken was not pleased.

OH god… hey brain, please have mercy, don’t remember this as that time that I ‘got to second base with a chicken’?

Your brain refused. Memory committed to long term storage.

Fuck you brain. If you had alcohol, you would drown this memory out. You win this round.

The check finally connected with Grillby after a minute of blind flailing, meeting burning magic with an almost audible _snap._ You were suddenly assaulted by alarm and panic that was not your own. He suddenly staggered into view, as if pushed.

‘ _Shit_ _!_ _That’s bad! Get your magic off_ _!’_ Grillby’s thoughts had become your thoughts, and you could feel him try and shove the magic off. Had you done it wrong? You didn’t just see his stats, you could _feel_ them. You could feel a hollow sensation in his chest, a void that seemed to suck hope away. His arm still hurt, the embers under the flames still in pain from the damage done to him during the refugees fleeing the humans.  Your own thoughts were no longer in your head, but scattered around between the two of you.  

This was _not_ a check. This was what the Academists had warned you about and tried to teach you to fear… the thing that would crawl into your mind like a burrowing worm and pry every last one of your thoughts out.

“What did I do -- how do I stop?!” You tried to jerk your magic back, but all that did was pull the spell tighter. Pieces of memory slammed around in your head, blue flames, a room of candles, a towering church, things that brought to mind fear.  Some were your memories, some were not.

‘ _Stop panicking!’_ Grillby's voice was in your head.

“I’m not, you’re panicking!” you squeaked, on the border of hysteria that was not entirely all your own. THIS was why you didn’t use magic. Every time you thought you had it down, it found a way to backfire on you. No, bad magic! Stop! Whoa! Heel! Sit! Listen!

You could hear his thoughts as if he were mumbling every word. Grillby’s mind bumped from one subject to the other: how to stop spells running wild, how to break a focus, and for some reason a recipe on cake bounced around. You latched on to the subject on how to stop spells running wild, trying to keep the thought from spiraling away as his mind whirled. What you found in Grillby’s head was stopping spells running wild meant you either had to strip most of the magic out of the caster, or literally sucker punch them.

‘… _oh shit. Please don’t punch me in the face.’_ The thought flew through your head. That one _was_ yours.

There was a hard _shove_ of magic and you felt the connection grow weak and brittle, the link stretched, and for a moment seemed like it would bounce back. Instead, you felt the magic _crack_ , and a concussive shockwave exploded from somewhere inside your skull. You were knocked to the ground, or maybe you just fell over as your brain became convinced up was now down, and that floating was a great thing to do! There was a dizzying whirl that made you feel as if you’d been drinking all day, but without all the joy of being drunk.

When you managed to regain your senses and open your eyes, you found Grillby had managed to pull you off the ground, but couldn’t manage to drag you inside. Instead he was sitting next to you, his cloak pulled off and under your head like a pillow. A muffled groan was pulled from your throat, biting down on your lower lip as you felt a pounding in your head. When he spotted you struggling to consciousness, Grillby slid an arm under your shoulders, helping you to a sitting position.

“And that, is why I hate checking.” You were fatigued, your magic felt … like a wet noodle? There was literally no good way to describe something that doesn’t _actually_ have physical form and how it hurts… but it hurt. It was like being punched in the tit, hit upside the head with a pan, and kicked in the gut all at the same time -- but without any physical injuries.

Clearing his throat, Grillby looked uncomfortable, “That. Was not a normal reaction. Is that normal for mages?”

“Nnny-es?” You didn’t want to think about those days at the academy. You could vaguely remember checking was uncomfortable and the sages stressed never to do it, but never that it was flat out mind assault. “I mean… I think so? I remember the sages said it was invasive,... but … was I IN your head?”

Nodding, Grillby pointedly did not look at you.

Great. So, an elemental got a front row view on some of your most embarrassing and awful memories. At best, he got hit with a load of half-finished puns and awful embarrassing memories. At worst, he saw what the grand-sage made you do during your test to become a sage. You did _not_ want that memory bouncing around in _your_ head, let alone his.

Sighing in frustration, Grillby leaned back from you, and rubbed at his face. “No more blind-checking for now. Only check when you can see a target.” He pulled out his flask, offering it to you to try and recover the magic you had just lost.

“Thank you, merciful savior.” The liquor was awful, but you were tapped out of magic and it hardly mattered. You managed three large gulps before your tongue went numb and your head started to spin. Your idiot selective brain had forgotten this was swill. Stupid brain. Sure, remember that time you accidentally called the headmaster ‘mom’ during a lecture much to your chagrin, but can’t remember that this was basically liquid regret with alcohol?  Why did awful memories stick so well in your mind?  There were few and far between memories of peace and happiness in your mind that you could call upon.  No matter how deep you buried those awful memories, they kept floating to the surface of your mind.  

You did not want to talk about what just happened.  You were fairly certain Grillby didn't either.  So together, the two of you made to pretend it never happened.

Taking the flask back Grillby took a long pull and his flames went jagged for a moment. Exhaling a cloud of steam, the elemental paused as he looked down at you. Reaching out, his hand closed around your other wrist, lifting up the hand that was clutching the strangely ruined weapon. Had you been holding it this whole time?

“Oh… this? No idea what happened here. Think it’s worth it to keep and try and reforge or use for scrap?” You surrendered the weapon. Just as well, you had no skill with any weapons other than bricks. Which, for all accounts and purposes, were considered ‘improvised throwing weapons’ in your book.

The elemental nodded at your question. You watched as he grabbed the hilt with a double handed grasp. From what little you knew about swordplay, he looked like he knew what he was doing. But why would he use a sword if he had ma… oh….

Grillby lit the sword on _fire._ The metal started glowing, tongues of fire licking up the sword as the blade became soft. The smell of hot metal and magic was overpowering. But you found you couldn’t look away as the blade reformed itself first into a long sword, then into a scimitar, and finally into claymore.

“H-how?!” You were aware your were staring in awe, unable to even close your mouth.

“...magic.”

“You… insufferable _ass,_ that’s not what I meant.” You grit through clenched teeth in frustration.

“Magic too strong for you. Maybe after you learn control.” Grillby turned the molten weapon upside down and dunking it into a barrel of rainwater to extinguish it. The cloud of steam hissed bitterly and the water boiled briefly. Extracting the sword from the barrel, the weapon had solidified as a claymore, but looked brittle and weak now.

Your eyes followed Grillby as he tucked the sword in his tasset belt. You were many things (stubborn, a coward, and perhaps an alcoholic), but you felt a swell of determination. “Is it possible to smith metal with magic?”

Blinking in surprise, Grillby paused and looked back at you, nodding slowly.

“Do you know how?”

One brow arched, and Grillby nodded again.

An idea started forming in your head. A majority of the damage to the kiln that you could not fix was the metal shielding and flue. If Grillby could smith the damaged parts back together, you might not need to try and find someone to fix the kiln. “Would you be able to fix the kiln? I can pay, or pick up whatever supplies you need when I go to the city. Please?”

A long silence fell over the yard, Grillby opening his mouth to speak, but no words forming. He seemed taken aback. Then he settled on a decision. “You’ll fix it. I’ll teach you. After you learn control.”

You couldn’t keep the groan of frustration muted, and it rolled from your throat as your shoulders sagged. Fine, if that was literally step one to control or learning how to smith with magic, then you would do it. Perhaps with better control, you would never have that invasive mind-assault check happen again.  You hoped you were better at this skill than you were at cooking...

A low grade headache had been threatening for a while. The sip of liquor smothered it a bit, but without a doubt you would be suffering from a migraine if you kept going at this pace. Your limit made itself very clear. You were tapped out, your focus was strained, and on top of it all your were fatigued from lugging rubble and bricks.  Whatever the mind-assault had done to you, it felt you disoriented and fuzzy but without any lasting damage.

“Sun is starting to set. Probably best to call it a _day_ ,” as the words leave your mouth, you realize it’s another pun, and god be damned if you weren’t going to roll with it again.  Burying your stress and emotions under a thick layer of bad jokes was how you functioned. “It has _dawned_ on me that I still don’t have another bed made up for you.”

Grillby’s eyes widened, suddenly hearing the puns. There was an irritated crackle and hiss as the elemental proceeded to ignore you.

He wasn’t going to be ignoring these though! “Come on, let’s _glow_ inside. I'm starting to feel  _light-_ headed.” Now Grillby wasn’t ignoring you anymore. Now he was glaring. Why yes, you were a shit. Thank you for noticing, giant fire guy!

“I’ll keep punning unless we head in,” you called over your shoulder, reaching the door and unlocking it. Grillby almost knocked you over in his haste to get in an end the awful onslaught. “Spoilsport,” you snorted. The normal ritual of shaking out ash that had gotten into your clothes was hardly necessary. The house was a mess of ashen paw prints, smudges, and dust _everywhere_. You hadn’t realized how much ash got tracked in by all the refugees. Still, you pulled your cloak and apron off and hung them on the peg anyway. Someone had hung a large piece of canvas on the peg, probably to dry out after it was washed. The cloth was too stiff and coarse to have been of much use as a blanket, but no one was in a position to be picky when they arrived.

An idea struck, inspiration in raw form. “I’ll _bright_ back! I have an idea!” You grabbed the sheet of canvas, kicking the front door back open as you punned.

The look of horrified revulsion on Grillby’s face was worth it.

Dragging the cloth to the barn, it took about a half hour until you managed to finish your plan. Folding the canvas in half, and stitching it closed with heavy twine, you formed a rough mattress and stuffed it full of straw. It certainly was no feather bed, but it was a welcome improvement over the hell-couch that disgraced your house. While you might be able to fold in half and fit on the couch, Grillby would never manage it.

Hoisting the make-shift mattress over your head and lugging it back inside, the second time you kicked open the door the smell of something delicious wafted out. Oh that’s right, elementals are some sort of divine cooks from the heavens. Struggling to drag the canvas mattress through the door, you drop it to the floor in front of the couch with an awkward flop.

“You didn’t have to cook, I could have managed.” Poking your head in the kitchen, you toed off your boots and kicked them near the door. Or at least, in the general vicinity. … ok, so they ended up under the sofa. Hey, everything was ‘close’ when you consider just how wildly inaccurate your fireballs were. If you got even slightly close to your target: job well done!

Grillby cast a dubious glance at your statement. Clearly, he was calling the bluff there. Gesturing to the table, there was already a loaf of bread waiting, and fresh ginger tea. Whatever he was baking was some sort of… egg pie?  Slicing you off a piece, you poked at it with your fork, confused by the meal. There were slices of mushrooms, pieces of onion, and what was probably the last of the salted beef in the egg pie. How had he made this?  Where had the flour for the crust come from… Magic?

Out of curiosity, you fought for control of your magic… and checked the pie.

… yeah, you read that right.

_Name: Quiche_  
_Lvl: Seriously?_  
_AT: ….it’s a PIE…_  
_DF .. why are you doing this?  
_ _Status: Yeah, there’s magic in here. And also eggs._

… you were never going to get used to this kind of magic… were you?

Your skin prickled. Grillby was staring.

“Eheh… practice? At least I’m not going to accidentally read the pie’s mind,” You offered a feeble grin. Quickly stuffing a piece of the pie/quiche in your mouth to avoid putting your figurative foot in your mouth and saying something stupid, your eyes widened at the taste. “Wow… that’s… wow. This pie is _egg-_ cellent,” you slur around the fork as you swallow the quiche.

Grillby was chuckling, one hand over his face, and his other clutching at his fork as his shoulders shook. His control fractured, and the chuckle turned into a full throated laugh. His eyes squinted into crescents of mirth and sparks snapped around him.

“W-what? Is… is it that I checked the pie? No serious, this… kwee-che… is good!” Was it rude if you kept eating while Grillby laughed? You’d made enough of a fool of yourself today, what dignity did you have left? In fact, here, “Watch my dignity, your aunty has got to eat,” leaning sideways, you whispered to the egg as it sat in the center of the table.

The white soul twirled at this, as if to say, ‘I’ve got your dignity! You eat that egg pie!’

With Grillby laughing while you wolfed down the pie, it only took a half dozen bites before you decimated your slice. At this point, you had the feeling Grillby was laughing more for the sake of laughing, than at you. You started on a second slice of quiche. The muffled laughter from the elemental calmed and he was left rubbing at his eyes with the palm of one hand.

“Do you ever stop making puns?” Grillby asked, his voice was rough from laughter.

Why were your unintentional puns the one that got the biggest reaction? “They ocu- _pie_  my thoughts often.” You are going to hell. But if it keeps him laughing, you will keep doing this until you pass out at the table.

This last joke only encourages him. Grillby slumps onto his forearms on the table, struggling to choke back his laughter. Oh shit, you’ve literally never had anyone laugh at your awful jokes before. This is the most encouragement you’ve ever gotten for your half- _baked_ humor.

… holy crap, you really couldn’t turn the puns off, even in your head, could you?

Well, if you were looking for a reason to turn red and hide your head behind your arms in shame, this would be it. Several awkward minutes where you were too embarrassed to look out from behind your protective wall of arms and Grillby was still snickering ticked by. By the time your blush was beaten and Grillby had calmed down, you realized just how tired you were. And Grillby looked as tired as you felt too.

“So, now that I’ve done the _crustomary…._ CUSTOMARY amount of stupid things, and you’ve laughed at them. Let’s go to bed.”... ahaha, you thought you were done saying stupid things?

_N o t   e v e n   c l o s e._

“N-not like that! I mean, you go to your bed and I go to my bed!” And with that, the searing blush you had barely managed to defeat returned, stronger and hotter than before. To save yourself, you slam your head into the table to hide your face. The plates and silverware danced across the table from the impact of your forehead.

One day, you would learn how to stop yourself before putting your foot into your mouth. Today, was not that day.

Grillby fell into a second fit of laughter, now unable to even sit upright in his chair. Even the tiny soul in the egg seemed to be laughing. There wasn’t even any sarcasm left in your mind for you to use on yourself, you were shamed out.

“I-I’m going to do dishes. If you need linens for your bed, looks like someone hung all my spare blankets on the coat rack… for some reason.” Pushing out of your chair, you made to go wash the dirty dishes. Of which, there were a surprisingly large amount. The pile that never got cleaned from the refugees, plus what you had managed to use since then was waiting for you. Clean up took a while, long enough that Grillby managed to calm himself again, and you could hear the sound of soft cracks and pops as he remained in his chair. You could hear him giving the egg a few sparks of magic to hold her over for the night.

Your spine tingled.

You think you preferred this strange sensation to being repeatedly checked… whatever this was. Where checking felt like your brain was being fondled and secrets pulled free, this felt like a warm magic hug. There was nothing in your memories at all on what this could be, the sages never taught magical hugging 101.

Putting the dishes in the rack to dry, you wiped your hands on a towel and gathered what remained of your nerves. “Um. Want me to take the little spark with for the night shift feeding? I should have enough magic recovered when she’s hungry again.”

Grillby touched the egg carefully, checking the soul within. His brow furrowed at the results, and he sighed. Then he slowly nodded at you, tucking his niece back into her travel bag. The kid wasn’t fussing or calling out at the moment, you could only assume she was sated… but still not receiving any love.

Unsure if you should play the good hostess and try and stay up until Grillby felt tired, or just give up the fight and crash into a pile of blankets. Your exhaustion finally won out, you couldn’t stay up any longer without becoming the living dead. “Well. I’m going to go to bed. Did you need help with anything?” Wasn’t he tired? Sure, he took a nap in the wagon, but he also had fought off your blind-check and that had to have wasted a lot of magic.

Grillby shook his head, drinking from his flask again.

“Um. Alright. Well. I’ll … see you in the morning?” What do you say to a houseguest who has basically invited himself for an unknown amount of time? Gathering the egg up and tucking it under your arm, you made a quick retreat to your bedroom. Closing the door behind you and releasing a tense breath, you slumped to the bed. Putting the egg on the nightstand, you pulled off your grimy clothes and lobbed them blindly at the laundry pile. You pulled on clean undergarments and a linen shift, but still you felt gritty. You needed a bath soon or you would just throw yourself in the river to scrub clean.

Having just ‘eaten’ magic earlier, the soul in the egg was now demanding attention, spinning around in the shell as she called out. “I’m sorry. You were a very good girl today. Do you want to play a bit?” you yawned, reaching for the egg. The fire monster child still thrilled at being spoken to. Eager to play, she chased your fingers across the egg and trying to encourage you to play back with her as you fought sleep.

“I’m pretty sure I assaulted your uncle with magic today, but he doesn’t even seem mad. I’d have been _furious_ though. You monsters have thick skin,” you spoke, more to yourself than to the egg, but she seemed to appreciate your voice. You managed a few minutes of this game of chase before your eyes grew heavy. Pulling back the covers and pushing your legs into the bed, you snuggled down with the egg in the crook of your arm.

“Just wake me if you need anything, lil spark.” Your arms hurt, your shoulders hurt, your back and knees hurt, and even some strange part inside of you where magic came from hurt. And tomorrow promised to be worse. But every day that doesn’t drag you down, is another day you are free.

  



	18. Chapter 18

At some point in the night, the little spark called to you, and you woke groggy and confused. She was exactly like a human infant waking in the night. Venting magic, the soul absorbed magic until she fell back asleep. You returned the egg to it’s spot on a barricade of pillows and went back to sleep. You didn’t have much memory of the night after that. But as dawn lightened the sky, you woke with just one thought in your head.

“Oh my god, sleeping in my own bed is amazing. I am never ever falling asleep outside by the kiln ever again,” you sigh, stretching luxuriously.

Three days until the caravan arrived.

As that thought ran through your head, you bolted out of bed, scrambling to the dresser to pull out clothes and nearly slipping on your discarded pants. You needed a bath but with the water tanks still ruptured it’d have to wait. Priority today could be to patch the tanks, but you still had to clear the debris from the yard and make everything ‘normal’. Dressing for a day of cold weather and heavy lifting, you found a ratty wool sweater and a linen undershirt that was more holes than cotton. Gathering your hair up and twisting it through your hands, you coiled it into a bun and slid two pins into place to keep it up.

The soul was calling again. “Okay, I hear you. Let’s go see if your uncle wants to hold you for a while thought.” Your magic was about … a quarter filled or halfish? It was hard to tell, but if you had to keep the egg going all on your own for 24-hours, you would be completely tapped out.

As you pushed open the door to the kitchen, the smell of something sizzling in oil caught your full attention.

“Is this going to be a thing now? You sparing me from my own cooking?”

Grillby nodded.

“Bless.” You clasped your hands in thanks. “Also, she’s calling. Are you up for it? Might be easier for both of us if we rotate.”

Nodding again, Grillby handed you the spatula as he gathered his niece up. Breakfast appeared to be some kind of omelet, much like the egg pie the night before, it was stuffed full of… stuff you knew you shouldn’t have in the house. How did he do this?

… you _checked_ the omelet.

 _Name: Omelet_  
_LV: oh god not again_  
_AT: It’s an OMELET, not the secret to the world_  
_DF: we’re really doing this?  
_ _Status: It’s full of EGGS, what do you egg-spect? Also, magic._

You snorted, wrinkling your nose at that. Was magic supposed to be so… sassy?

Keeping the omelet from burning was easy… flipping it… not so easy. You managed to lever the omelets over, half-flipping it, and mostly getting it to fold in half strangely. Cursing, you tried again, this time breaking the egg all over the place. At the third attempt, you gave up, and scooped the pulverized omelet to your plate.

Grillby gave you a funny look, his fire curling questioningly.

“What? Does it matter what it looks like? Stop judging me! And stop judging this omelet! You can keep your judginess to yourself,” you huffed defensively. Actually, despite crumbling apart, the omelet was delicious. You devoured breakfast with the same energy you had for dinner the night before. Looking up between bites, you noticed Grillby gently running a hand over the egg, the soul within contently fluttering. Even if the kid wasn’t getting love, she still clearly was happy just being near her uncle.

Didn’t that count for anything? The fact he was at least trying?

Finishing breakfast and carrying the plate to the skin, you noticed only then that Grillby hadn’t eaten. “Did you eat earlier?”

Grillby shook his head.

Your eyes narrowed. You knew a monster at full health didn’t really need to eat like a human did, they only had to eat to recover magic. You also knew he couldn’t possibly be fully recovered, he had _just_ given magic to his niece. So you were left with only one option… he was being stubborn.

Well two could play that game.

Putting the skillet back on the flames, you took an egg and cracked it into a bowl, trying to locate some of the ingredients Grillby had put into your omelet. Lets see… mushrooms? There were a few left, harvested a few weeks ago in the woods. Garlic, check. Onions… on the last few, but check. Um… pepper? Salt? You tried to think of the seasonings Grillby had put into your omelet but you were drawing a big blank. Clearly he had put milk in his omelet, but you certainly didn’t have milk. Also, how the hell did he get magic into the food. What if you vented magic while stirring the ingredients? Was it as simple as that?

Answer: No. Oh hell no. And wow, look at that, new burn marks on the ceiling.

Grillby was standing next to you, staring up at the fused remains of what you had attempted to cook with slack jawed awe.

“I swear, I’m not normally this bad! I’m just… I don’t work well under pressure!” you protest.

Grillby gives you the side eye.

“Stop pressuring me!” You were blushing, but at least it wasn’t at critical levels. Yet.

He reached up to dust the charred remains of breakfast off the ceiling, and you started trying again. Maybe you added… too much magic? Was that a thing? Eggs, no mushrooms this time, garlic, onions were all whipped in a bowl.

“What are you doing?” Apparently giving up on just watching, Grillby grimaced as his voice crackled.

“Making _you_ breakfast,” you said.

He arched an eyebrow at you in a gesture that obviously meant, ‘and why?’

“You are using magic, so you need to replenish it too. Help or not, I’m going to cook you breakfast. So you can either back out of the blast zone as I try again, or show me what I’m doing wrong,” you started mixing everything together.

A hand reached over your shoulder, taking the whisk before you could aggressively punish the omelet for failing the first time. Heat soaked your side as Grillby moved up to the stove, muscling you out of the way to take over. He did something with sparks, and something with fire magic, and then returned to whisking the mixture. You were unable to figure out what he did though, but the end result was a flawlessly fluffy omelet.

“That’s some epic level wizardry, right there,” you were forced to admit. Grillby was giving you a funny look again. “No, really. At… at the Academy, they taught us how to blow stuff up, how _not_ to blow ourselves up, reading, history, and math… and that’s it. They didn’t teach us how to cook, do laundry, or be functional adults. That’s all trial and error on my part.”

Mostly error. You did a lot of that.

While Grillby ate, you cleaned up the newly dirtied dishes. Standing on the tips of your toes, you managed to shove the dishes back into the cupboard. “Well, I’m going to see if I can’t find something to patch the tanks.” You had no idea what Grillby’s plans were for when he wasn’t trying to teach you control. Leaving the kitchen, you searched around the entry hall for your boots. You remembered they had fallen somewhere under the sofa? No wait, never mind. Apparently they traveled back to the doorway and lined themselves up on the mat. Neat, you weren’t aware boots migrated… or that Grillby was an obsessive cleaner.

“Find me when the little spark needs some magic, I’ll be in the yard somewhere,” you called as you pushed open the door. Your response was a bright glow from the kitchen. Good enough.

Heavy manual labor was bad enough, but the repairs on the tanks were awful. It took you only a few moments to find the rupture in the water tanks. The wooden barrels held water from the river and then carried it through a metal pipe curled around in an accordion shape along the back of the kiln to absorb heat. The blast had cracked several planks of wood of the barrel, and twisted the pipes into strange shapes. This looked like a job for… someone else. But as you were the only labor here, it fell to you, as all jobs do. So you found a some tools and a hammer and started straightening the pipework with brute force and working to replace the damaged planks. Now all you needed was time to let the tanks refill and see if it worked.

The sun wandered from one side of the sky to the other. You wondered what Grillby was doing inside. You _hoped_ he was getting some rest. He seemed so… sluggish today. It was the reaction of someone who had nightmares all night long, and gave up at sleeping early in the morning. Five years ago… that was you.

Slowly, the yard started to resemble what it had before. You started carrying rubble to the edge of the wall, tossing the unusable pieces over into the woods bit by bit. More than once, a sharp piece of brick bit through your loose knit sweater, scratching against your arm and drawing red puffy lines against your pale skin. Broken bricks were as sharp as flint knives, and you were the kind of idiot who tended to grab a handful of them carelessly. As you chucked the fragments into the woods, something curious caught your eye, a tower of rocks and broken bricks beyond the wall. Strange. You hadn’t built anything out there. Skirting the wall, you passed through into the woods. The structures weren’t very tall, only a few feet, and were made with…

...oh…

It was burial cairns.

This was where the human attackers had been taken after you killed them. Someone had dug a dozen holes in the woods, and then painstakingly built nameless memorials over the top of each. You felt sick… but not due to what you had done. This was more than they deserved. They hunted the weakest of their victims in order to get strength they didn’t deserve. What you had done was _justice_ … and it felt good.

At that thought, revulsion stabbed into your guts. You were _glad_ that you had killed a bunch of men? No, that wasn’t it. You were sickened by what you had done… but somehow it felt like it was the right thing to do. Can you be both proud and shamed by your actions?

“Ah, so I guess that’s what ‘aspect constipation’ means, huh Gerson. But how do I fix that? Guess I probably should have asked what aspect I was.” You stepped away from the cairns, the shade of the woods feeling unnaturally cold. Quickly returning to the work yard, you intended to stoke the ruined kiln for at least some heat to banish this chill. Then you remembered the kiln was a total wreck, with the destroyed rubble now blocking the coal bed.

Before you had even made it back to the rubble pile, you spotted Grillby outside just as he spotted you and quickly intercepted, looking furious or possibly panicked. Seizing a handful of your cloak, he dragged you almost off your feet. A _check_ bounced off you, as close range like this it wasn’t an invasive as you thought it would be. But you still flinched.

“I could smell magic. And blood. You’re hurt?” With your cloak pulled up in his grasp, the small scratches the bricks had gouged into you through the sweater were visible. They were no longer bleeding, but left long clotted, red lines over your right arm. What Mays had bluntly told you crept back into your mind ‘monsters can smell magic when you bleed’. Literally, apparently. To you, blood smelled like blood. To them, it smelled like fire magic.

“I’m fine. Scratches. They’ve already sealed up, see?” Grabbing the loose sleeve of your sweater, you pushed it up your arm revealing the scrapes. Oh wow, okay one of them was a bit larger than you were expecting, traveling from elbow down to where your gloves had been protecting. A dozen angry scratches were carved into your arm. No wonder Grillby could smell it. Your wool sweater was slightly tacky from dried blood now.

Grillby took your arm, rolling the injury so he could look at it. “I’m fine! You checked me, right? Is there any damage to my health at all?” You prodded, knowing full well that scratches like this were superficial.

There was a pause as the elemental rolled his thumb over the largest of scratches, magic tingling against your skin. He huffed, a cloud of steam puffing with his breath. “One HP lost.”

“See, just one. Like I said, ‘I’m fine’. Humans heal from small injuries without any care,” you said, shrugging off the attention he soothed over your arm in embarrassment. “I get a bit scratched up when I work too. It’s normal. I’m a super ‘stuff’ filled human before I’m a mage, scratches don’t bother us.” You could feel his stress churning your own magic up. Placating him seemed to work, your own magic settled back down as he seemed to relax marginally.

You could hear the spark calling out from her egg, whining loudly for magic. Ah, so that was what brought him outside, it was time for an egg-swap. Grillby held the bag to you without a word, his eyes still fixed on your arm.

Sighing, you set to work charging the egg. The coldness you felt grew stronger, soaking in and settling in your bones. Giving magic to the egg was easy, but under the strain of trying to practice checking so much you felt worn thin. You didn’t even have the focus to check the egg when you were done. You felt worn out and exhausted… and there was still so much to do. You had half the day left, time to use it.

Holding the bag back to him you said, “Here, I need to finish gathering up the pieces of the kiln, and then sweep the yard, and--,” As you strode into the workyard, you noticed an extreme lack of ash and cinders. The yard was swept clean. Chunks of debris were still scattered across the yard, revealed now that the pile of ash was gone. “You… helped clean? Stop cleaning up after me, I’ve got this.” Picking up stray bricks and chunks of mortar, you started lugging them to the kiln to try and figure out where the pieces fit later.

“Stop making a mess.” Grillby grit out, the effort of speaking worth the insult.

“ _You're_ a mess,” you fired back. Was it considered rude to call someone out on the fact they are barely functional? Yeah, probably. Good job, starting the awkward late today at least.

“So are you.”

“Hey, I never said I wasn’t a mess. But there are seven layers of awkward, sass, and salt between me and that hot mess at all times.” Lobbing a chunk of mortar at the pile of junk, you nailed it directly with a loud _clack._

Grillby was still sweeping, carefully rounding the ash towards the garden. “Hmm.” He nodded. “What order?”

You couldn’t help it, a smirk curled your lips again. “Ah, I think it was something like: shyness, salt, awkwardness, paranoia, sass, awkwardness, and painfully bad jokes.”

“You listed awkwardness twice.”

“Have you _met_ me? I’m _made_ of awkwardness. I’m pretty sure that’s my soul’s aspect. Awkwardness… is that actually a thing that could happen,” you asked after a hesitation. Maybe THAT was your problem… on top of… you know… all your actual problems.

Grillby chuckled, and shook his head.

Throwing more rubble into the pile, and the kicking the dirt level in areas where the rock had cratered into mud, you finally had the yard looking as it had. Finding a spare tarp in the barn, you roped it over the kiln, covering it from prying eyes until you could either find the time to repair it, or buy the mortar you would need to cement the pieces back in place. Stretching, you were pleased to find you had finished this before the sun went down. That meant… you got to start on the next backbreaking project: stacking all the bricks into the wagon.

“Arms, I require your assistance. Time for you to _carry_ your own weight around here and lend a _hand_. Both of you, it’ll be a _joint_ effort.” You grit your teeth as you pull on a pair of gloves, starting to move the stacks of bricks, one by one, to the wagon.

At your awful puns, Grillby leaned into the barn with a look of disgust. “Are you telling puns to yourself?”

“‘Course. I talk to myself all the time. Sometimes I need expert advice.” You grin brightly. Slowly, Grillby reached up to palm his face, sighing deeply. Ah, music to your ears. Nothing was better than the sound of someone who regretted hearing your awful jokes.

At first, the grumbling in your stomach was a quiet reminder that you had just skipped lunch. But you were elbow deep in bricks at the moment, so you kept going. Skipping a meal to switch bricks out of the kiln was pretty standard anyway. However, the next growl a few minutes later was no longer a quiet reminder. Now it was a declaration of war against you.

_**GggrrrrmrmmaaRRRRRrrrrllglgl** _

Even across the barn, where he was feeding the oxen (when had he decided to do that?) Grillby heard the sound and looked up in alarm at you.

“Yeah. It was me. I was the one growling.” You shrugged.

A slow spreading look of confusion crossed the elemental’s face. Taking a few tentative steps forward to stand in front of you, he reached down and pat you on the head twice. Clearly, he had spent considerable time around hounds.

“Thanks. But that’s not what that sound means,” you chuckled. Your stomach rumbled again, quieter than the last tantrum it just had. “My stomach is growling.”

Now Grillby’s gaze drops down to try and spot this ‘stomach’ of yours. Whatever you were expecting… it wasn’t him to pat your belly.

“A-hiieek! Yes, thanks!” you recoiled quickly away, hand coming up over your stomach as your face went crimson. “B-but that’s not why it was making that sound either. My stomach isn’t angry. The growling thing means I’m hungry.”

This finally sinks in, and unless you are mistaken, you now know what an embarrassed fire monster looks like. The orange flames turned a violent red, black embers appearing under the jagged flames. One hand lifted to rub at the back of his neck and his gaze darted away from you.

Bricks would have to wait until tomorrow, you were hungry, tired, and would have drop-kicked a nun for a hot bath and a heavy drink. Time to save face here, “All in favor of calling it an early night, eating, and then doing nothing for the remainder of the evening… say aye. Aye!”

Grillby cocked his head

And the soul in the egg didn’t say anything at all, but she did do a few pirouettes… “I’m going to take that as a yes,” you said to the soul. She agreed… or said she was hungry… you had no idea really, but she certainly was loud. “Two to one, the ayes have it. Inwards!” You pointed towards the house, sweeping your leather gloves off and flexing your fingers.

“Eat?” Grillby asked as he followed behind you.

“Yeah, that thing humans do three times a day. … which I have apparently failed at. Two outta three isn’t so bad though.” You tugged open the door, pulling your shoes off as you slipped in.

“No!” there was a growl of irritation under the crackle of fire. “WHAT do you want to eat?”

“Oh… yeah, that makes more sense.” You paused, considering it over. “Cake!”

And there was the deadpan look of a fire elemental.

“Hey, you asked,” you snarked. “Really, just ‘food’ in general works for me. I’m not a picky eater, and you are an unfair amount of skilled at cooking.”

As Grillby headed to the kitchen, softly crackling flames dancing over the tile as he left, you stretched and gave a long whine as your shoulder and back pinched uncomfortably. Yep, that would be the sign that you were done lifting heavy shit for the day. You were caked in about three days worth of grit, ash, and sweat, everything hurt, and there was no booze in the house.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to go test the tanks and make sure they are working,” you shouted. Translation: I’m taking a bath… for science! There was a bright flare of light from the kitchen, you assumed it to be acknowledgment. Shoving your boots beside the door where they belonged, you padded to the bathroom rolling your stiff shoulder.

Testing the valves, you opened the tanks to full and turned on the bath, relieved to see water gushing into the bathtub. The water was cold though, at best air temperature, but at least the tanks had been fixed, even if the kiln was still in pieces. There would be no hot water until the kiln was running again. While the tub filled, you shrugged off ashen clothes and released your hair from its greasy bun. The battle to brush the knots and snarls out of your mane was a losing fight. After your hair ate the brush for a third time, you had to fight the urge to just leave it there, accepting it as part of yourself. When the tub finally was full, you shut off the valves and went to test the water.

“Oh good, slightly above freezing… hooray,” you snark in a sarcastic tone, goosebumps breaking out across your arm as you dipped your hand in up to the elbow. Steeling yourself, you climb into the bath and quickly sit down before you have a chance to change your mind. “OH HELLFIRE, it’s cold!” The screech escapes as you shudder, goosebumps rising across your entire body and shivering. You weren’t skilled enough with magic to heat bath water while you were in it without boiling yourself like a potato. Cold bath, it was.

Even as you quickly splashed water on your face and twisted your hair to wash it, there was a quick and urgent knock on the door. “The kitchen had better be _on fire_ for me to get out of here,” you called. Whatever reply Grillby has, his voice is too hoarse to carry through the door.

You _really_ did not want to get out of the water. And you REALLY didn’t want him to come in. The water was a bit… nippy. The only course of action that didn’t involve getting out of the bagth was checking him, and you swore you would not hell-check again until a better solution was found. “If it is something wrong with the kitchen, the kid, or unexpected visitors, knock twice for yes, once for no.” You shouted.

A single knock.

“Is it because I was swearing loudly and you wanted to check me, but didn’t?”

Two knocks.

“Ah, and here I thought you wanted to join me,” you sassed.

One heavy slam on the door, and the sound of grinding embers on the other side of the door.

You laughed, nearly getting water up your nose in the process. “I’m fine. Just being a baby about the cold water. I’ll be out shortly,” you called out.

There is a single knock on the door. Odd… did you phrase something as a question?

“Are you okay?”

A single knock again. ‘No’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh... my god. My baby sister is getting married on MONDAY... and she told me this LAST MONDAY! WHAT THE... SISTER... WHY!?!? I mean, we knew it was coming. But... she's in DENMARK, and it is literally impossible for us to get out there. So on Monday, she is going to live stream her wedding for us in the states. The wedding party will be later and in the states. Best of luck to my baby sister and her bartender!
> 
> I guess this will get her on the path to be a Danish citizen. And she WILL give up her US citizenship (not even a question, I know her). Which will make her a Dane. And she'll got moxie, she’ll be a _Great Dane_! She loves Denmark, she always has _lhasa_ cool _paw_ ts on her FB page. I'm not bothered she'll be living on the otherside of the world at all... *stops punning to have a second breakdown*
> 
> Is it weird I want to ring her neck and hug her and cry and the same time? Sorry, sister threw a wrench in my writing plans. I literally have hit every gambit of emotions possible, I’ve done no writing this week, so I have some catch up to do. Originally I had plans for 3 updates this week, but that kid...


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels... like I made a plot mistake somewhere in here. But I couldn't find it. At some point, a revision might come by and redo this chapter. As I don't actually have PTSD, I had to compare it to a full blown anxiety attack that you can't stop. (if I'm wrong, please correct me). Poor Grillby, neither of those things is fun.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for all the well wishes and encouraging me on through writers block! I'm excited for the wedding now, and I'll get to see my sister and new-bro-in-law a week before my birthday for the wedding party here.

Grillby was picking through supplies, trying to figure out what there was left to even cook with. At this point, it was pretty much just eggs and oats unless you were willing to sacrifice a chicken (and they all had names, he didn’t think there was any way you were going to consent to eat ‘Duchess of Featheron’ or ‘Madam Featherduster’ or ‘Steve’). Substituting magic for missing items was always possible, but there was only so much that magic could do. It wasn’t possible to create a meal from literally magic only. Whatever was going to be cooked for dinner, it was going to have to feature mainly eggs. Grillby was left pondering this, his mind drifting from recipes to you.

You said you had seven layers around yourself, seven layers before anyone was let in. Asgore had somehow bypassed all seven layers in a single week, but Nibs had taken a few years before he succeeded. Grillby was left wondering where he stood exactly. You had told him you had seven layers out of sass most likely, but you had no idea just how true it was. A heart doesn’t learn to be fearful and anxious overnight. Each hardship had formed a new layer around it, until seven layers deep you hid under the humor like a shield.

When you retreated to the bathroom, there was a painful limp to your movements, and your skin was streaked with ash and sweat. But you didn’t seem to complain about it. Being in pain from heavy labor seemed to be normal for you. Instead of slowing down or trying to spare yourself further pain, you worked through the agony until you were done. Grillby had a feeling that you wouldn’t have stopped at all if your stomach hadn’t started growling.

How strong were humans? You weren’t even particularly big. But somehow you could press on through exhaustion, pain, and anxiety and still manage to get stuff done.

Digging through the cupboards, there were enough spices left to flavor just about anything Grillby could cook. What if he substituted not for flour or milk, but for meat this time? It took the same amount of magic to substitute for anything. A cup of milk was the same amount of magic as a cup of flour or a cup of sugar. Sure, it would still have to feature eggs in the meal, there wasn’t a lot left to cook with otherwise.

Pulling seasonings out of the cupboard and lining them up on the counter, Grillby felt the collar of the tunic and vest pull uncomfortably against the back of his neck. His clothing was not meant to be casual, it was meant to protect under heavy armor. Growling in frustration, he pulled the vest open and struggled to loosen the tunic below. He had only got a few items after leaving Home. After Riverside, all he owned was literally the clothes on his back, his bag, his armor. Gerson had made sure he had a few spare changes of clothes, and given him the flask ‘just in case’. Nothing from Home fit very well though. There was no such thing as ‘off the rack’ for monster clothing, not when monsters could vary in size from bunnies to dragons. The best Gerson could find was clothing meant for a skeleton, which was far too tight at the collar and wrists.

Actually, Gerson had given him a second order other than to teach you control. Grillby felt disgust and shame, but … he had agreed to it.

“She’s a mage without ties. D’ya know how rare that is, boy? And she’s gone through what yeh have too. Monster or not, yeh have her sympathies. Yeh could make use of that. Get her to join us!” Gerson had found Grillby in the barracks that night.

So Gerson had known that your soul was damaged in the same way Grillby was. Two damaged souls would make a bond of compassion if they let the magic pull them together. Where one was damaged, the other would help them heal: the bond was meant to help both parties recover faster. It made both sides stronger, but it gave one large vulnerability… the _other_ side. If you didn’t want to join monsters in their war before he asked, you wouldn’t be able to refuse afterwards. It would be like a _compulsion_ spell, but powered up to such levels that it couldn’t be ignored.

It was mind control at that strength.

Grillby had accepted the mission, but he’d be damned if he was going to offer a bond of compassion to get it done. He’d just… ask. Perhaps if you learned to control your magic better, you’d be swayed to join the monsters. You clearly didn’t like your own kind much anyway. It couldn’t be too hard to see if you wanted to join in a war that would kill hundreds of humans…

… this was an awful idea.

So instead, Grillby was left unable to ask you if you would form an alliance with Home. And he refused to offer a bond of compassion to try and help his damaged soul. Instead, he went through the motions, every day felt the same as the one before. Even after being cleared by the healer as ‘physically fine’, there was nothing they could do for him _or_ his niece. The crack on the egg was too severe to patch, and there was no replacement for love. The kid was going to be dragged down with him, each day stretching out a little bit longer until he finally ran out of magic to keep her going.

A loud swear and a squeak of alarm were muffled by the heavy bathroom door, but Grillby went silent and still at the noise. Was there a second attack by humans? Had you hurt yourself? Listening intently, his core racing, Grillby heard no sounds of an attack, no clash of steel, no howl of attackers.

But his core was slamming against his chest and would not slow down. A memory crawled forward, one of three intruders standing in his sister’s house -- silent murderers who were biding their time until they could easily dust her.

He was already at the bathroom door. He had to make sure you were still in there. Alive.

Knocking on the bathroom door, Grillby’s core was pounding painfully. He should check you. But the last check had locked your magic and mind onto his in some sort of death grip. Mages could not be safely blind-checked, or perhaps could not safely do that themselves. All you needed was to hear your voice, anything, even telling some shitty pun, and he would know you were alright in there.

Otherwise he was going to accidentally burn the house down as panic started to clench at his core.

“The kitchen had better be _on fire_ for me to get out of here,” you called, perhaps a little irritated, but fine.

“... you have no idea, just much I needed to hear you say that.” Grillby shuddered. Panting as he tried to rein in his instincts Grillby leaned his forehead against the door, one hand clutching at his tunic. The memory of the lurking human attackers started to pull away from reality. He wasn’t going to find them standing in the bathroom. This was not a battlefield. There was no war. Not here.

Not yet.

“If it is something wrong with the kitchen, the kid, or unexpected visitors, knock twice for yes, once for no,” your voice barely carried through the door. Grillby could barely hear you shouting through the door, there was little chance you were able to hear him. He needed to hear you keep speaking. Just until he had his mind back in order. Just until the panic settled.

Grillby lifted a hand, giving a single rap on the door with his knuckles.

“Is it because I was swearing loudly and you wanted to check me, but didn’t?” You were extremely intuitive. Whether it was because you knew what it was like to suddenly panic for no given reason, or if you were picking up on the open bond, Grillby wasn’t sure which was more likely.

He knocked twice now.

“Ah, and here I thought you wanted to join me,” you purred. That was _not_ the sass he had been expecting! In Grillby’s mind he could almost picture a you in there, strange human skin sparkling from the water and unhurt. Strange red-fire hair curled limp and heavy around your shoulders, twisting ringlets in the water. You would be wearing that wide and toothy smile when you _knew_ you were being a shit, eyes half lidded and gleeful. How could you be so much like fire, but able to handle water?

Grillby’s eyes snapped wide open and his flames curled crimson _._ Clenching his jaw, he slammed a hand into the door, steaming in embarrassment.

You laughed, the sound of sloshing water quick to follow. “I’m fine. Just being a baby about the cold water. I’ll be out shortly.”

Leaning against the door, Grillby could still feel memories jangling around in his head. This was not a war, this was not Riverside. When he turned around, the house would not be on fire. Everything was fine. But… no matter how many times he kept repeating that, nothing felt fine. His core would not slow down, his flames kept building up. He needed… needed… what?

“Are you ok?” Your voice sounded confused. Grillby realized he had slammed his fist against the door as he fought to control his anxiety.

Taking a breath and releasing a cloud of smoke, Grillby bowed his head and knocked once. ‘No.’

On the other side of the door, there was a splash by more swearing. After a moment of fumbling, you tentatively called out. “Um… I… shit. Hold on!” Your feet scrambled across bathroom tile.

The sound of splashing water caused a second stab of panic to seize against his core. What was he doing?! Why couldn’t he turn this panic off? He _knew_ nothing was wrong. The only one in the house was you… a human….

… _three humans in a room… all standing in front of a closed door._

Fire started to crawl along the floorboards.

“Whoa! Out! Put it out!” The bathroom door jerked open, and Grillby tilted backwards, slamming flat onto his back. You stood there in some kind of towel toga, made up of perhaps four or more separate towels. Impressive garb, as you had managed to cover nearly every square inch of skin, and somehow turned your hair into a towel bun as well. Bursting into the hall, you fanned a hand at the flames burning against the floor, and the flames shrank away. The sharp bite of magic chased any creeping flames away.

You managed to keep your magic away from Grillby as you dampened all the fire spreading in the hall. Strange, he wouldn’t have thought your control was that good. But then again, putting out fire was a lot easier than creating fire. Pushing himself to a sitting position, Grillby reached up to clutch a hand over his core. This… was not how it happened in Riverside. There was no ‘suddenly mage!’ that burst in and put the fires out. His memories – disrupted by abrupt arrival of a towel mummy -- fell quieter.

With the fires that had been spreading under his hands extinguishes, you were left panting for breath, one hand clutching the towel garment to your chest. “What… what was that all about?”

Grillby couldn’t answer. Despite your appearance disrupting the horrible memories of Riverside, they were starting to crawl back over his mind. Curling a hand over his face and through his flames, Grillby could feel control fracturing.

He was going to explode.

Apparently, you realized that at the same moment. Gray eyes went wide in alarm. Taking one step backwards, you crossed the threshold into the bathroom. And then shut the door

Maybe that would protect you from the--

“I have an idea! … an awful idea that has a high chance to backfire… but it beats the alternative of _actual_ fire.” You called through the door.

A blind-check hit him.

Unlike before where it snapped closed like a bear trap, this time it felt more like a smothering blanket tossed at him, and suddenly thoughts were jammed into his head that were not his own. There was an immediate scramble as both parties tried to gather up all their mental shit strewn across their brains. The terrible memory of howling armies and the cries of monsters was echoing…

‘ _You aren’t there anymore. This is Ebott. I am the only human for leagues. Just me!’_ Your voice reached through the mess of memories, a soft pulse of sympathetic magic following briefly. It was dozens of times more effective than if you had been standing in front of him, trying to calm him down with words. This was your own thoughts and feelings, pushed into his mind. The memory of the battle grew dull, sights and sounds becoming hazy. Still, the slaughter of Riverside felt like it was looming just over his shoulder, and if he turned around he’d see the city burning.

‘ _This is Ebott. Nothing is burning._ _Y_ _ou aren’t there anymore.’_ You tried again to shove the haunting memories aside, but failed. Grillby found himself returning to Riverside in his mind, his sister’s blue flames slowly dying out. Memories twisted, things that didn’t happen playing over and over in his mind. The urge to defend himself with a fire nova was still crawling over his skin.

Your thoughts grew louder, almost drowning his own rampaging anxiety. He could hear whispers, tiny bites that never fully sounded out meaning. It sounded like you were talking to yourself through the bathroom door. Finally, a few words were voiced into Grillby’s mind. ‘ _What was her name?’_

“Chispir.” Speaking aloud hurt, saying her name hurt worse. A stab from a wound not healed.

At mention of his sister’s name, there was a brief flicker of memories that accompanied it. The time the young elemental twins melted a pile of snow, then put Gerson’s boots into the water and let them freeze over. Learning to cook together. A brief argument when Chispir and Flint first started courting (Grillby gave Flint the ‘if you hurt my sister’ speech… Chispir in turn chewed him out with the ‘I’m older, I know better’ argument). Each memory flashed through his mind, and was gone.

The battle for Riverside started looming.

Or it would have happened like that, if a sticky fingered human hadn’t managed to latch on to the good memories, and drag them back. ‘ _You had Chispir growing up. You remember what it was like to have someone who understood you as a kid? There is one person here who needs that still.’_ Grilby could feel your thoughts circling around the egg, worried for his niece. He could feel the need to protect the kid like a shield, and you moved the shield between the memories from Riverside, and himself.

The battle ended. Just like that, the memories of a battle lost and barely survived were shut out. Outside of this mindscape, Grillby shuddered in relief as his flames finally were able to stop trying to explode in a nova.

‘ _Are you feeling okay now?’_ Warm magic brushed against Grillby’s arm, your voice sounded right beside him, instead of through the bathroom door. This place was strange. He could still see things in the real world, but this mindscape was like an exact overlay, but with ‘stuff’ strewn about the place. Now that the panic and anxiety had been beaten back, Grillby was left wondering if this place was dangerous. Memories floated around like bubbles, and peering into one he could see flashes of scenes as you could remember them.

A memory ambushed Grillby, one of yours that was lying unattended. A memory of sitting in front of a class of students, you with braids in your auburn hair and wearing uncomfortable canvas mage robes. The teacher asked you to read from a textbook as you stood at your desk. Somehow, instead of reading from the book as asked, the book burst into flame with uncontrolled magic.

“Mother Kane? My textbook has burst into flames!... again,” you had said then, holding the book far away from your face as the pages started to curl with fire and blacken.

The nun gave the child version of yourself one dull look, sighed, and grabbed a pail of water and hurled the contents at you as if an old pro at this. “Child… would you please keep from catching on fire every other day? We are running out of spare textbooks.”

The gout of water caught the book directly and extinguished it, the backsplash dousing you in the process. How a nun managed to throw a pail of water ten feel with such accuracy… Your thoughts bounced around the memory, perpetually wondering if the nun was a mage as well. Grillby flinched at the memory, throwing a bucket of water at a kid seemed overkill to stop wild magic. Were human mages even trying?

A second memory slammed into Grillby even as you tried to gather the stray memories up. This one many years forward from the last. Instead of braids and robes, you now wore your hair loose and tabard over a simple dress, the mark of the Academy emblazoned across the breast. You sat calmly in the library, pawing through some complex tome on magical theory with an expression of abject boredom.

Until one of the sages burst into the room, howling your name as if it were the national anthem.

“It wasn’t me!” Slamming the book shut, teenage-you looked up in panic, shunting the book across the table and out of the ‘blast’ radius.

“Why is the kitchen COVERED in honey!?” The sage cried out, nearly pulling on his beard in frustration. Good thing he didn’t… his hands were covered with a thick coat of honey.

“Oh that. No, that was me,” you didn’t even look apologetic.

“HOW?! Child, how did you manage that?!” The sage was nearly epileptic with frustration.

“I was trying to make something,” you said as you sat straight, back rigid, and face carefully schooled to be passive.

“What were you making?” The sage grew paranoid. He could sense a setup.

“I’ll _bee_ honest, I was trying for honey _puns!_ They didn’t come out too sha- _bee_ either!”

“Detention. Detention, and you are on the kitchen cleanup crew for the next three weeks!”

“Noo! I promise I’ll _beehive_!”

“FOUR weeks!” Yet you didn’t look upset at kitchen duty at all. A thought _buzzed_ around in your mind, _bumbling_ into Grillby. He swatted the awful puns out of the way, even as he could hear your laughter.

Your voice reached him, not part of the memory, ‘ _I was all excited to be a sage, up until that point. That’s w_ _hen they started_ _telling_ _me… well, sages are the King’s weapons. That was about the point where they started treating me like one._ ’ You sounded dull, like the memory drained the life out of you. _‘I am NOT a weapon._ _’_

‘W _hat was the point of that memory?’_ Grillby felt weird thinking aloud.

‘ _The point is… you aren’t thinking of the battle anymore, are you?’_ Your thoughts were hard to control, and even trying your best they still escaped from you. Grillby could hear the words as they bounced passed. You had gone through what he had in the past – you didn’t want him to take five years to realize he had help if he only asked. You couldn’t abandon his niece – you would sacrifice sleep, health, or whatever it took to see that kid hatch. You didn’t want to be alone anymore – why had it taken so long to realize that?

Then you tried to initiate a bond of compassion. You didn’t even know what you were doing. Trying to help, you stumbled into something you _really shouldn’t have._

Grillby gave a hard shove and the connection _snapped._ His eyes shot open and he found himself firmly in the real world. His hands were curled around the bag holding his niece. At the touch, the soul called out to him, gently bopping against the shell to try and reach him. From side the bathroom, there was a strange _whoompf_ and a garbled cry of surprise, followed by a loud splash.

Grillby knocked on the door, tipping his head against the heavy oak to listen.

“I’m ‘kay. Just, lost my balance from the…. Kicking-of-me-out, whatever that was,” you said, groaning. “Also, I think I exploded.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! Stuff! Happenings! Wedding I attended in pajamas (and then promptly put a bra and shirt on for the facetime chat afterwards)! Ok, so my life is apparently one strange event after another. After my little sis got married yesterday... one of my axolotls mauled the other. Banana bit the leg down to the bone on Toothless, and all the help I got on the forums said to amputate the mauled leg. So I am now a doctor, and I did (I panicked about the whole thing, and contemplated finding a vet to do it for me). Now Toothless is living in the fridge until I have the infection under control and the damage to his gills recovers.
> 
> Side Note: Please don't open that tupperware in my fridge, you will be very surprised by what is inside.
> 
> I'm off for this weekend, so I'll try and rush a post in on Friday before I leave! After that, schedule to return to normal Wed/Sat postings!  
> -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

You HAD exploded, in the very literal sense of the word. There was half of the bath water all over the room, everything was soaked, including the dry clothes you had brought in. Apparently the reaction for releasing that mind-connection was some kind of magical blast centered around _you_ specifically. When Grillby broke the link between the two of you, you had been leaning against the back of the tub and gone toppling into the water. Then you had physically exploded with wild, unshaped magic. The water dampened the blast (pun reluctantly intended) and there was very little actual damage to the room other than water everywhere.

When you had the link broken previously you were outside where there was very little to hurt. As far as you knew, a magical shock wave was normal for this… whatever it was.

“Side note: Don’t do that thing indoors anymore.” Half draped over the edge of the tub, you rubbed at your skull. Then again, most of your magical skills all revolved around ‘don’t do those things indoors’, so you really shouldn’t have been surprised. You levered yourself out of the bath, dizzy and feeling like you had just gone through the ringer. You were drained. Physically and emotionally. Grillby’s memories buzzed around your head angrily. ...how did he cope with those so loud?

There was a series of knocks at the door. Grillby was probably wondering what the hell had happened, and if he should break the door down.

“Are you feeling better?” You called out.

Two knocks for yes, but a short hesitation and then another series of knocking…

“Are you asking me if I’m alright after that… whatever it was?”

Two knocks: yes.

“Well, if you were wondering what the reaction was to exploding underwater, the answer would be: wet. Everywhere. I’m not hurt, but… everything is soggy.” You wringed the towel out over the bathtub, scowling as the cloth proved to be even wetter than you were.

“I’m going to dry off the bathroom. I’m okay in here. You don’t need to --,” and at that, your stomach snarled at you. It howled like a rabid wolf, then came back with an encore performance that centered around high pitched squeals. The whole thing ended with a gurgle.

Silence. “Please tell me you didn’t hear that.”

Muffled laughter was your answer.

Leaving you furiously blushing in the bathroom, you could hear Grillby pad his way to the kitchen, leaving you in soggy peace. Brain, commit this to memory!

Brain: Already done. Adding a note that you were naked the whole time.

...good times...

Your clothes were soaked and every towel you had wrapped yourself in was drenched, but the simple undershirt should dry fast. You just wanted to try and relax before you had another magical meltdown… why did nothing ever work out as you planned? With no other choice but to wear wet clothes, you tugged the linen shift over your head, your wet hair soaking the fabric further. A towel was demoted into mop status, and you started soaking up the puddles of water and wringing them into the bathtub. The bathroom was in sore need of cleaning anyway, after all the ash and dirt the refugees tracked in, the room was a bit grimy.

After a half hour of restless cleaning, you managed to get the room dry. The towel was a lost cause -- it’s sacrifice will never be forgotten. Your linen shift was already drying at the edges, and your hair was no longer dripping at least. Besides, you couldn’t stay in here anymore, the bathroom was getting downright cold with the door closed and the kitchen hearth fire shut out.

Pushing out of the bathroom, the warmth from the kitchen rolled into the frigid room like a smothering embrace. Sighing, you padded barefoot into the kitchen, peeking around the corner. You wanted to run to your room and grab something warm to throw on over the short underclothing you wore. Grillby was at the hearth, sleeves of his tunic rolled up bare arms as he stirred something in a skillet. The satchel bag was strung over one arm, his free hand gently rocking the bag as he cooked. Even at this distance, you could feel the heat pouring out of the kitchen, both from the open hearth and the towering fire monster.

Still, you needed to pass through the kitchen to your bedroom. The linen shift was rather… sheer… when damp, and cold fabric pressed against your chest had made you break into goosebumps. Very _very_ noticeable ‘goosebumps’.

“I need a sweater!” you announced loudly, bolting through the kitchen before Grillby could catch a good look at you. You heard a sharp snap of surprise from the fire monster as you passed through, quickly dodging into your bedroom and diving into the bureau to pull out a thick wool sweater. You were well aware you looked ridiculous: the oversized sweater belonged to your husband, a relic you never managed to get rid of and it hung almost to mid thigh. The linen shift was only slightly longer, down to your knees. Rather than leave your legs bare, you pulled out a pair of socks and rolled them up to your knees, successfully covering up without wearing pants.

Who needs pants? Not you, that’s who!

Padding back into the kitchen, you found Grillby was now leaning against the oven, arms crossed over his chest as he waited. One brow lifted on his forehead, flames curling curiously.

“What?” Self conscious, you tugged on the hem of the pajamas, toeing the ground with your foot. Was it the lack of pants? Technically, he couldn’t see any skin at all below your neck… excluding your fingertips. Was it some kind of taboo not to go around in pants?

Giving you a once over, Grillby sighed and shook his head. Nope, nothing at _all_ wrong here. Turning back to the stove, he finished stirring whatever it was he was cooking. And what was he cooking exactly? It… smelled like beef, fresh beef at that, of which the only ‘fresh beef’ you had on the farm were the dullard oxen who were sure to be stringy and gamey if only out of spite. With dinner still cooking, you retrieved dishes to set the table. Your stomach considered growling again, but instead contented itself with some minor grumbling and bitching.

Meanwhile, you were ready to put your foot directly into your mouth and started rambling. “I’m sorry… about doing the check that I wasn’t suppose to do and digging around in your memories. I just… kinda thought it would be best if you could remember something--,”

“Thanks,” Grillby interrupted your rambling with a single word, and with that word your face lit red with a blush.

“So… are you… alright?” Fidgeting, you tugged on the sleeve of the sweater, pulling it back up your arm so your hands were not lost in the fabric. Nearly losing control in the hallway and being forced to relieve your worst memories in vivid detail wasn’t ‘ _alright’_ by any stretch. From the glimpses of Riverside that you had seen from Grillby’s mind… _you_ wouldn’t have been alright either.

Grillby only nodded.

Understatement of the year right there.

“Sorry about the floor.” Grillby simply said. As if the floor was more important that his near explosion.

“It’s a _floor_ , you walk on it. I don’t care about the floor. Are you going to be okay though?” You tried again.

Grillby said nothing.

Ok, fine, if he didn’t want to talk about it, then he wasn’t going to. You wouldn’t be able to make him either. “Well, I meant what I said… or thought… or whatever, back there. It’s not you versus everyone else. And I’m not going to sit by and watch as both you and your niece fade away. If you need help, I’m helping.” You didn’t ‘offer’ help so much as you did cram it down his throat. If he was anything like you were back after your husband died… he wouldn’t accept help if offered anyway.

But let see him try and stop you from helping.

His shoulders went tense for a moment. You felt that weird tingling sensation of magic crawl over your skin,... the odd not-a-check or maybe-a-monster-hug thing. Making a mental note to ask Nibs what it was, you tugged on the shoulder of your sweater nervously. Then you pat him awkwardly on the back. Pat pat pat.

Perhaps you had spent too much time around the monster dogs too.

“Sit,” Grillby ordered, holding the pan in one hand and scooping out what was certainly steak and eggs onto your plate. Yep. And clearly prime cuts of meat too.

“HOW? How the hellfire did you… did you just magic _steak_ out of thin air?” you gestured at the plate as if it were the 8th wonder of the world.

“Substitute.” Grillby chuckled.

“So you did. You literally magic’d steak out of… magic. … why didn’t I learn this at the Academy. Forget fireballs, I should have been studying _this.”_ Focusing on the steak, you took a bite, and found it tasted just like actual real steak. You couldn’t tell the difference between magically substituted food and real food.

“The more you substitute, the less ‘real’ it tastes, and more magic it takes.” Grillby took his seat, setting his niece down beside him.

“So you can’t just conjure a cake out of thin air?”

“No. Raw ingredients only.”

You dug in with gusto. Fresh meat was impossible to come by out here, short of catching fish or setting a snare trap you usually had to make due with salted meat.

There was another snort of disdain from your house guest. Looking up, fork hanging from your mouth, you flinched as a fiery hand was a few inches from your head. “Don’t leave your hair wet.” Grillby paused, long enough to make sure you weren’t about to lean right out of your chair (and onto the floor) or shove back at him. When you remained frozen in your chair, locked in confusion, he moved forward again, his hand threading through damp hair with a hot sizzle.

“N-Stop what are you doing?!” Jerking back, now threatening to tip the chair again, you pulled away. “Are you _trying_ to get wet?”

A crackle of what might have been amusement came from the elemental. “I won’t be hurt by such small amounts of water,” he rasped. As proof, he reached forward again, touching a knuckle to your wet hair. His flames didn’t flicker or die, but did steam and hiss. Heat spread over your head, you weren’t sure if it was from his hands or a rampaging blush. You could feel the magic, hear it even when it was so close to your ears. Magic made a high pitched chime, and also a deep hum at the same time. For years hearing the dual pitch meant you were about to cast a spell or lose control, and despite knowing Grillby wouldn’t harm you, you remained tense.

Dragging his fingers through your hair, the damp locks quickly warmed and dried at his touch. He ruffled your bangs dry before reaching up with his other hand to grasp at the back length loose hair. “How are you doing this? You can burn things, but also not burn?”

Grillby nodded. “Higher or lower magical density.”

It make sense… it was how mages were able to cast magic: by literally pooling magic in your hand. “So, almost the opposite of mages then? Mages have to focus to turn magic ‘on’, but you have to focus to turn it ‘off’?”

Running fingers through your hair and untangling snarls, Grillby nodded. It was surprisingly relaxing to have a living fire comb your hair.

“Wait, stop. Let me try that.” Reaching up, you bumped his hands away.

He gave you a solemn look, “Don’t set yourself on fire.”

“Geez, I won’t! At this point, I’ve learned that lesson by experience enough,” you retorted. Grillby’s eyes dropped from your hair down to your shoulder, then quick he looked away. Oh. So _that_ was what had him so ‘judgy’ earlier. Your oversized sweater sat askew on your shoulders, leaving part of one shoulder bare, and the scars that covered it visible. Twisted, warped scars covered that arm from wrist to shoulder. Unlike the small white scars from healed cuts, burn scars were not shiny and white but a flushed red color.

“It’s ok, it was one of the first burns I ever gave myself. I learned that lesson _very_ well.” Reaching up, you tugged your sweater straight so it covered the scars. Catching the edge of your sweater, you rolled it to your elbow, revealing the beginning of the scars on your arm. Holding your palm up, you focused on pooling your magic there.

“You… burned yourself?” Grillby looked aghast. You supposed it would be like hearing someone stabbed themselves instead of the target dummy. Yeah, human mages were remedial at magic… you were well aware.

“I’m not fire-proof, remember? I wasn’t careful back then, I set the magic right on my skin. That was stupid. I was taught to keep it about an inch away from my skin so I didn’t catch fire again.” Focusing, you pooled magic in your palm, showing him that you were keeping it suspended above your hand instead of touching it. Normally, if casting a fireball, you would now shape the spell, then lob it at someone before it could burn you. As a haze of heat waved of your hand, you reached out with your other hand to test the temperature. It was probably _too_ hot, if you tried to dry your hair like this, it would frizz and scorch.

Grunting, Grillby shook his head at your attempt. Placing his hand just above yours, he touched the shimmering pool of magic you were holding. You felt an electric shiver run down your arm and your fingers went briefly numb. The difference in holding magic and _being_ magic was like comparing a candle to the sun. Correcting you, he adjusted his own magic while touching the gathered puddle of magic, forcing your own magic to change with his. The end result when he pulled away was your hand was now holding a flat disc of magic at the same heat as his was.

“...Do you know it took me _months_ of practice before I even could figure out _how_ to pool my magic like that, and almost a full year to change the temperature to something that wouldn’t burn me?” Lifting one hand to prod the disc of magic, you cautiously used it to dry the damp spots left in your hair. “I just did this in five minutes, and I didn’t even hurt myself. Wow.”

Grillby was keeping a sharp eye on your spell, adjusting it every time he saw the heat spike. He seemed to take your warning that you could hurt yourself with your own magic more like a threat that it _would_ harm you at any given moment.

“Did you teach others how to use fire magic? You are better than any teacher at the academy ever was.”

Red fire curled and flared as Grillby leaned back, flustered at the compliment. He shook his head his head, “You have the same magic as an elemental. It’s familiar.”

“So in short, you are practicing teaching me for when your niece hatches?”

This actually took him by surprise. Speechless, Grillby opened his mouth but nothing came out. You realized he hadn’t been considering what would happen once his niece hatched. Maybe you could give him a few helpful pokes into keeping his niece as always his first thought...

“I mean, I basically have all the self-control of a newly hatched monster. I assume me touching a baby fire elemental would burn me, since they don’t have any control and I’m not fire proof.” You were suffering from dire curiosity in knowing what the little green flame would hatch like.

At this, Grillby’s citrine eyes widened and darted to the bag. “You … are not allowed to hold her after she hatches. That would be bad.”

Disappointment rolled over your face before you could school your expression. “Yeah, that’s what I expected. So if they burn everything they touch as infants, how do you keep them from burning down the house?”

Trailing his fingers down the egg, Grillby seemed to be lost in the past. “Spells. A bassinet is made of stone or metal, softened by magic cushioning. They don’t gain control for almost a year and will burn anything -- clothing, furniture, other monsters.” When Grillby spoke softly, the deep and painful rasp seemed not to bother him. He could manage a whisper without wincing. You leaned in to catch his words, elbows resting on the table as you dipped your head sideways to watch him speak.

“So you have to strip down naked to handle the babies?” you giggled, you couldn’t help it.

Grillby’s flames quickly curled red and he popped and crackled as he flushed.

“Oh lord, you DO, don’t you?” You slapped a hand over your mouth before you could break into a wide and idiotic grin.

“Only where they touch you!” Grillby defended, almost ruby red flames now.

You choked on your laugh as your thoughts went from an awkward Grillby by trying to cuddle a child in green flames to ‘I wonder what he looks like under his clothes’. Wow, you went from zero to inappropriate in an obscene hurry.

You instigated an emergency subject change, before you could start blushing. “What do newly hatched monsters eat?”

“Magic still. Magic infused foods. Soft cheese, yogurt, stewed vegetables. Anything, as long as it’s soft and has magic in it.”

“Like how you put magic in this food?” Poking at the steak, you were tempted to check the meal, but you knew the results would be sassy and only prove it had magic in it.

Grillby nodded.

“That seems easy. Then anyone at all can care for babies as long as they have magic.”

“And can cook.” His voice is even and calm, but you can see the smirk on his face.

“Cheap shot!” you retorted, reaching out you cupped your hand around the egg. “You see how your uncle teases me? Is that fair? What do you think, little spark?” Asking the egg, you get a happy flutter as a reply. And then a very loud demand for magic. “Oh, is it time for you to eat now? Nah, it’s ok, I got her.” Scooping the egg up, you pull her into your lap as Grillby put down his fork to reach out. You’d foolishly wasted a lot of magic back in the bathroom, and practicing holding magic had depleted yet more. You’d barely have enough to keep the kid satisfied this time around. Grillby would be taking the night feed.

That reminded you…, “You’re taking the bedroom, since you have the late night feeding. I’ll take the straw mattress.”

Grillby opened his mouth to argue, but a sharp glare silenced him.

“A straw mattress might work for an adult, but a baby needs somewhere better to sleep. Whoever has night duty, get the bed.” Sparks cascaded off your hand, bouncing off the shell and scattering across your lap before they were pulled back into the egg. Was it your imagination, or was the egg… warm? The green fire in the shell never produced heat before. “Feeling better, are we?” You asked the egg. Your reply was the heart-shaped soul bumping into your hand before drifting lazily back into the center of the egg.

“May I check you?” The request caught you off guard, and you jerked your hand away from the shell.

“Uh…,” you felt on the spot. You knew why he wanted to check you - after ‘exploding’ in the bathroom, and all the magic you had used, he probably wanted to judge to see just how much magic you had left. You were curious too, “Well… ok. I’m ready.”

Reaching out, Grillby set his hand on the top of your head. The check hit you, feeling like a pat on the head instead of the intrusive groping it had before. It felt like touching softened the shock of a check. Was he learning how to check more gently? You appreciated the effort.

“So, how’s my magic look?” You asked after a few moments. Grillby seemed to be stewing something over. You were loathed to ask what your status said.

“Not bad. You could probably handle the night feeding on your own, but not by much.” Clearing his throat, orange flames curled red for a moment as he turned back to his own dinner. “Finish eating, you’ll need the magic tomorrow.”

This was the most you had ever spoken to Grillby before. Your conversation had been held at a rather intimate whisper for the whole thing, but you could imagine that before his voice had been damaged he would have spoken in a warm voice that was frequent to laugh.

You decided to test that laugh, one more time. “You know, I realized I just went the whole meal without making a single pun.”

Grillby’s eyes widened. He turned, slowly, towards you and put his fork down.

“Don’t.”

His horrified and solemn look was all the encouragement you needed.

“Ah come on, it’s a _prime_ chance, it’d be a huge mis- _steak_ to skip out!” The theme was picked, let the game roll!

Grillby groaned.

“What, didn’t it _meat_ your expectations?” Your shit-eating grin was firmly in place. Lifting the egg to your face, you cooed, “You don’t have any _beef_ with these puns, do you?”

The kid’s soul bounced happily. Meanwhile Grillby covered his face with a hand.

“See, she doesn’t think it was a bunch of _bologna_! Even if it was a bit _ham-_ handed.” Tucking the egg in the crook of your arm, you returned to blatant pun-taunting. Grillby gave the kid a disapproving look for being so cheerful in the face of such bad puns.

“I’m not doing too badly, I haven’t _butchered_ any puns yet!” You defended. “Except for that one, it was the _wurst,_ to be _frank.”_

Breaking into a cough to try and hide his laugh, Grillby’s shoulders shook slightly as he tried to muffle his snicker.

“Ah well, I suppose a good pun is a _rare medium well done.”_

Grillby laughed, leaning forward onto the table and his flames dancing merrily.

Victory was yours! Sometimes, what you needed most was a good laugh and someone who understood how shitty everything was sometimes. You felt like the best thing you could do was just remind Grillby he wasn’t alone. His niece was always happy to have her uncle hold her, and the kid would go into a frenzy of joy every time he gave her magic. And it felt nice to have someone in the house with you. … maybe it was a bad thing to live alone in the mountains like this. Maybe you really should go back to the city. But then again… it’s _the city_ , rhymes with _shitty_ and bound to be awful.

As you finished eating, clearing out anything before it could be considered ‘leftovers’, you piled the plates next to the sink to do dishes in the morning.

“Check me.” Grillby’s command made your head throb in anticipation.

“Do I have to? I’m… kind of wiped out from that earlier check.”

“Know your limits, but strive to go beyond them.”

“That was some zen level wisdom right there. Guess I better,” you wiped your hands against a towel, frowning. You felt worn thin, but not yet pushed to exhaustion. Gathering your nerves, you found the check came easier than the others did.

_Status:_ _Grillby is taking the straw mattress tonight. You cannot stop him._

“Wha, I … no!” Pushing away from the counter, you were too slow to dash after Grillby as he exited the kitchen and flopped onto his back on the straw mattress. “Get up, and get into the bed! Or so help me, I’ll drag you! Don’t think I can’t lift you!”

Grillby merely pulled out his metal flask, taking a slow drink, and giving you a challenging look.

Your bluff was called. You were not actually going to lift him. And dammit, you felt an overwhelming urge to drop to the mattress yourself and drink whatever was in that flask.

“Fine. Just let me get some blankets and pillows for the kid though. No reason she has to sleep on a straw mattress too.” Folding your arms over your chest, you pivoted on heel and returned to your bedroom to gather up some stray pillows. When you slept with the kid, you caged her in with pillows so it wouldn’t roll off the bed. Really, the egg needed somewhere safe to be kept though. Like a …

Like a crib.

Holding a pillow tightly, you felt your knuckles creak under the strain. You had a crib. One that was so far buried in your past you couldn’t even look at it.

But you also had a kid at this place who needed a place to sleep now.

The mental fight was a lot less brutal than you thought. You found that no matter how painful the past was, you didn’t even blink twice at the thought of letting another kid slowly waste away. Whatever you had in the past was gone. It was easier than you thought to let go now.

Why did it take so long?

Backtracking, you left the room and tossed the pillows at Grillby on the mattress as you went passed. He gave a questioning hum, watching as you opened the door to the room you had left closed. A thick layer of dust covered everything. All the remained in the room was a bare rocking chair, a baby’s crib, and children’s toys that had been carved from wood by a steady hand years ago. The walls were decorated with pale yellow tiles, meant to be sunny and bright, but with a layer of dust over everything it just looked sickly. The rocker crib was made of wood and sanded smooth. It certainly wouldn’t work once the elemental kid hatched and started burning things, but for now -- as long as she was in her egg -- she could use this. Hefting the heavy maple crib over one shoulder, you only bumped it into the walls the minimal amount of times as you tried to maneuver it out of the door.

Grillby was at the door to the room as you exited, nearly clocking him in the head with the furniture. “Oh. Here, back up. I’ve got this. I thought the little spark could use a real bed, might keep her from getting jostled further. I’ll.. clean that room out later. It’s a too dusty to use.” Flipping the crib back to it’s rockers, you put it down next to the mattress and padded it with the pillows.

Your name was spoken in a deep rumble, and a shiver ran down the back of your neck. Looking back, you found disconsolate expression on his face. “You don’t have to.”

“No. I do.” You needed this. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt right to do. “We can’t keep carrying her around in a bag. She’s a kid, not a sack of potatoes. She can stay where she’s safe if someone is in the house with her.”

You felt warm. Sure, you were standing right next to Grillby, but it was different. It felt like a full body blush, but you were sure you weren’t blushing. Heat churned inside you, starting where your soul would be and spreading outwards. It felt… nice. What it meant, you had no idea. Something to ask Gerson the next time he showed up.

Maybe your aspect wasn’t ‘constipated’ anymore.

… God DAMMIT GERSON!!!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by GasterMaster, who pushed me, and I fell. Into the gutter.  
> WELCOME TO THE GUTTER. * does the breast stroke away*
> 
> Meanwhile, regular posts next week Wed/Sat. This early post has been brought to you by making bath bombs with friends, and going to the ren fair. AWAY!

Spring in the mountains meant snowmelt. The ground was soggy and even your best waterproof boots weren’t good enough to keep your toes dry. Sitting on a barrel in front of the kiln, both shoes off and your feet bare in front of the licking fire, you basked in the warmth between loads of bricks. Everything smelled like pine sap, charred cedar, and hot embers.

“Hey.” Grillby moved around the edge of the puddles to nudge against you on your barrel.

You shifted over to make room. “Hey, you’re back. How’d the scout run go?”

“No problems. No humans approaching Ebott.” The barrel really wasn’t meant as a chair for one person, let alone too. You had to shift sideways on a precarious perch. Grillby was forced to twist an arm around your shoulder to keep you from sliding to the ground. “How’s the kid?”

Lifting your hand from your lap, you revealed the green, glowing monster egg. “She’s been such a good kid all day. Clearly, she takes after her mom. She’s not nearly stubborn enough to take after her uncle.”

The egg had grown. Not in size -- it was the same size it had always been -- but in soul. The tiny white soul that once could run laps around the inside of the egg was now fixed in one place, a body of green magic surrounded it. The kid was still excited to see her uncle, and fussed until he reached out and put a warm hand on the shell. Slowly, bit by bit, you two had managed to keep the young soul soaked in magic, and over the past few months, Grillby finally felt the pride and love for the child that he had when he first met her. The kid grew fast, as if she knew she had time she needed to make up.

You were proud of this kid, who wasn’t even born yet but was still excited about everything. You were proud of Grillby, who had battled every horror of his past and come out on top. You supposed you were even proud of yourself too – magic no longer scared you. Good job on not being scared of yourself! … okay, maybe you were less ‘proud’ of yourself and more ‘accepting’, but it was a step in the right direction.

“Hmm,” Grillby gave a deep sound that rumbled against your back, his arm around your shoulders tightening. The heavy armor he wore on guard duty scraped against your shoulder.

“Ach, can’t you go change before cuddling us fragile little eggs?” You cradled the egg against your chest, wincing as a sharp corner of armor pinched against your soft skin.

Shifting off the barrel, Grillby started to undo the fastens and belts that held the armor on. The breastplate was freshly cleaned, the bronze gleaming and hadn’t been tarnished from the latest scouting. Unhooking the red cloak that fastened to the armor, Grillby tossed it at you, draping it over your head as he continued to pull off pieces of armor. Gloves were the first to go, dropped into an empty crate beside the kiln with a metal clank. The heavy tasset belt rattled as he unclipped it, adding it to the pile as well. That was where things stopped.

Fumbling with one of the bent fastens, Grillby struggled for a moment in frustration. He couldn’t bend his arm quite enough to get the leverage to wiggle the stuck toggle free. “Going to help?” he rumbled.

In human standards, Grillby was tall and lean, taller than the average human, but built like a career soldier. The only ‘standard’ monsters had was bigger monsters had more magic. Grillby was nearly at the tip of that tower, only a small handful of monsters could out magic an elemental.

“I don’t know… I am enjoying the view,” you smothered a smirk as you peer out from under his cloak. His eyes dropped to meet your and you gave a playful wink.

Grillby’s fingers slipped across his armor and his flame burst red at your wide grin.

Stifling a laugh, you push off the barrel, putting the egg on top of it and swaddling the kid in Grillby’s cloak. “Here, fine, I’ll help, you big bonfire.”

It took only a few minutes to unclasp the sticking toggle, warm metal made everything just a bit tighter than normal. Lifting the back half of the breastplate off, you dropped it into the crate of armor as well. Ash drifted from the side of the armor as it clunked to the box. Ash in itself on Grillby’s armor wasn’t unusual.

What was strange was the ash was centered around a small hole where the leather bands meet metal plates.

“Grill, did you…” Touching the hole, you were horrified to see it was exactly the width of an arrow head, and would have struck him square in the shoulder blade. Grabbing his arm, you pulled him down and seized a handful of the underarmor tunic. Ashes drifted down from that as well. A matching hole was on the back of the tunic.

“You were shot!” Your tone was sharp and accusing. Without hesitation, you _checked_ him. The status came back immediately.

_Name: Grillby_  
_Lvl: 1_  
_HP: 85/1250_  
_AT: 95_  
_DF: 40  
_ _Status: Grillby was ambushed by raiders. No one else was injured. He didn’t want to worry you._

Your fist clenched in the tunic, ashes and dust drifting through your palm. A shiver ran through your arm, and your knuckles turned white from the grasp. The thought of the stubborn bonfire falling down was beyond consideration. It hurt. It physically hurt. A sharp stab of sympathetic pain prodded your shoulder. “Inside, lets see if I can’t figure out how to bandage a pile of charcoal up.”

Gathering up the egg and the crate of armor, you prodded Grillby back into the house. The kitchen quickly became a medical room. You weren’t quite sure what he needed to heal, so you retrieved just about everything you would have used on yourself: bandages, ointments, and liquor.

“Tunic off, lets see the extent of your injuries here. You’re … really rather beaten up.” Uncorking the liquor, you pour a generous finger into a glass and push it across the table.

There were new lines of white embers that spread down his arm – more scars added to the collection. Struggling with a stiff arm, Grillby managed to wiggle half out of the tunic before his gave a hiss of pain. You checked him and jolted in alarm to note his HP went down a few more hits just from trying to twist his tunic off.

“Let me help.” Giving a hand, you managed to slip the dusty tunic off and dropped it on the floor. Grillby’s back was a solid plane of fire, embers underneath resembling muscles but not quite. He had the deep indentation down his back where a spine would be on a human, slight ripples in the flame where muscles would be. The point of entry where the arrow breached the armor was surrounded by black embers and dust was drifting from the wound. Tentatively reaching out, you fingers touched his back quickly and then pulled away. You were not burned.

Taking that as a sign that you were safe from the fire, you gently put a finger on each side of the wound to get a clear look at it, small tongues of flame curling harmlessly around your hands. The entry point was the size of a coin, the arrowhead punching only a slightly larger whole when it had been removed.

“Who took the arrow out?”

Grillby grunted in pain, hissing as you removed your hands. “Gerson.”

“Well... he didn’t do a bad job. Except for not patching you up. Why didn’t he get you to a healer?”

“I didn’t want to go. It would have taken a full day to get back here.” Grillby sucked a surprised hiss of air and his flames dulled to almost blue.

Why did everything he do make you so frustrated? “I’m half tempted to go join the guard just to smack you upside the head when you refuse medical treatment. Apparently, ‘common sense’ is a rare gift among guards.”

“As rare as cooking is to mages,” Grillby agreed.

“Okay then, new plan. I’ll join the guard and make the wounded eat _my_ magical cooking to heal up. It’ll be a good incentive on learning how to dodge. Arms down, please.” Besides the deep puncture on Grillby’s back, there were dozens of scratches over one arm. A majority of the missing HP seemed to simply be the result of him using so much magic while out in the field. You gave a relieved sigh when you didn’t find any worse wounds on him that you would have to treat.

Getting a dab of tincture on your fingers, you considered if this was a bad idea. The tincture was alcohol based. This could be as bad as dousing him with vodka. “This will sting, you might want to take your drink.”

Arm still shaking slightly, Grillby fumbled the shot glass before he bowed his head and slammed the drink back. Blue fire roared across his skin, embers glowing a brilliant white. You took that as your sign. You reached forward to dab the tincture into the wound, making sure it was clean. As a second huff of pain came from the guard at the burn from the medicine, and his flames grew slightly hotter to the touch. You pressed your hand gently over the injury and released a cascade of raw magic sparks. Your palm tingled and went numb and the flames across Grillby’s back flared higher.

“It’s ok, I’m almost done. I’m not the best healer… just bear with me.” Leaning forward, you closed your eyes and bumped your forehead into the back of his shoulder as you focused on venting magic. You could feel the embers underneath your palm shutter and heat make the room sweltering. It was easy to shape fire in the kiln, twisting Grillby’s flames around your fingers was like curling your hands through heavy hair. Magic jittered between your fingers pressed into his back, embers sealing up and flaring back to life.

Between the shot of liquor and your magic, the wound looked better. Not healed yet, but no longer losing dust and ashes. You checked Grillby again, impressed with how fast a monster could heal with magic. Add in liquor to that, and Grillby could go from near death to fine in a single day. His ability to recover quickly didn’t put you at ease though.

“What do I have to do to get you to watch out for yourself better?” You nuzzled into the back of his shoulder, closing your eyes against the bright dancing lights.

“Come with me.”

You pulled back, confused. “To…join the guard?” You hadn’t really been serious in joining the guard.

Grillby only shook his head, slowly turning his seat to reach out and catch one of your hands in his. “Just… with me. Where I go, come with. Or let me come with, wherever you go.” He pulled on your wrist, dragging you into his arms. You didn’t resist. You didn’t even react. You were so caught off guard, you could only blink in surprise as you felt arms curl around you.

Heat floods your face. Sure, you have your cheek pressed against his sternum, but that’s not the cause of the rolling fire that starts at your chest and boils upwards. How long had you known this stubborn fool now? Five months? Half a year? In that time, neither of you had left the other for any serious length of time. You had mastered control, Grillby had been accepted back into the guard for a job well done on teaching you. Despite that, he didn’t return to Home, and you never questioned why.

You already knew why.

You gave him your answer. “So.. uh… where are we going then?”

His reply was a brilliant scarlet flare of fire and his eyes crinkled in joy. Warm fingers started kneading circles along your spine. “Got anywhere to be?”

Turing your forehead against his chest, you mumbled into his embers, “Not really.”

Grillby rested his jaw against the crown of your head. “Sounds like a plan. I think I’ll do nothing with you.”

You gave a soft hum of acknowledgment. This great, big, warm, stubborn wild fire could barely keep himself lit, let alone alive. Your drew idle patterns over the embers, sparks of magic crackling free against him. Everything smelled like cedar and pine needles, ash and charcoal, and under all of that -- magic.

One wide hand slipped down your back and magic crackled up your spine as he curled his fingers under them hem of your shirt, against bare skin.

“Well… maybe not _nothing…_ ” Grillby growled, burying his face against the crook of your neck.

“M-maybe we shouldn’t...” you stammered, fingers curling against his flames as you shivered.

Grillby froze.

“You’re niece… she’s… well not really _watching_ , but she’s just right there,” you looked over to the table, where the egg was swaddled in Grillby’s cloak.

There was silence from him for a moment, and then his shoulder started to shake with repressed laughter. Reaching forward, Grillby untucked an edge of the fabric and threw it over the egg. “There, now she’s not watching.”

You give him an aghast look. “She’s still _right there_!”

Leaning forward, you trapped between him and the table, Grillby gently tapped the egg. “I’ll be busy for a while, little spark. Keep yourself busy.”

Even covered by a cloak, you could hear the little soul within. And she seemed to be cheering her uncle on.

“Traitor!” you squeaked, forced to throw your arms around Grillby’s neck as he suddenly stood up. One of his arms slid under your legs and you felt yourself lifted and then _thrown_ over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. A hand reached up to pat your rump as he headed towards the bedroom.

Sure, the two of you had shared a bed before, but it was always under the guise of waking the other from nightmares and struggling to make sure the kid had enough magic during the night feeding between the two of you. And… sure, sometimes you woke up to find a hand had slipped under your linen shift to cup your belly, or that you had hooked a leg around his knees and burrowed into his chest.

Grillby dropped you unceremoniously onto the bed, leaning over you with one hand on either side of your head. As you opened your mouth to say something, you found a sharp gasp escaped instead when hot fingers slid to your neck, a thumb pressed against your plus point.

“What do you think you are doing?” You ask, lifting an eyebrow.

“Admiring the view,” your own words from earlier were thrown back at you. Half lidded eyes burned with interest as you turned your head to rub your forehead against his arm. It left your neck exposed. His fingers twisted through your hair, catching a thick handful and pulling until you arched to give him more access. Bowing his head, Grillby breathed a puff of hot air against your neck, and you were reduced to shivering and whimpers. Whatever remained of your magic control was shot, and sparks of magic crackled from your hands.

Grillby seized a wrist in each hand, twisting one of your arms over the other and lifting them over your head. “No. You will need your magic for later,” he rumbled, using one hand to pin your wrists and the other to lift your chin, exposing your neck again.

“F-for what?” Breathing was hard. When did remembering to breath in become such a task?

A hot, slick tongue darted out to taste the sharp angle where neck met shoulder. “...for later...”

 

* * *

 

You jerked awake with a gasp and a flare of fire spitting through the air. You blinked blindly in the darkness when the flickering fire died in the next moment. The side of your neck burned from a touch that you had entirely imagined. Your heart raced, and the prickle of magic under your skin coursed down your spine. You didn’t need the lights on to know you were flushed and blushing. Or more than a little turned on.

“... dream… oh shit. Brain… please repress the shit out of that.”

Your brain was already half asleep again, and gave some sort of half-assed agreement as your eyelids fluttered shut.

‘ _Do you think he really looks like that under the tunic?’_ Your mind pondered, snapping you wide awake.

“No no no!” Clutching both hands over your face, you were resigned to a very long night.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SNAP, you guys had some awesome suggestions in here that I now I have to build into the future chapters. I'm glad I write in advance, because I would have to go back and redo chapters otherwise!

Dawn was creeping over your face, prying at your eyelids. Groaning, you rolled over, pulling a pillow against your face. It smelled like ash and burnt wood. Pressing the pillow against your nose, you gave an incomprehensible mumble and nuzzled against it. Half-awake, your mind was still rolling in the dark abyss of dreaming, and you started to slip back into a dream of fire and slick heat.

There was the heavy slam of oak bouncing off a tile wall and a wail of “Shit! We have problems!”

Jerking upright, the pillow pressed to your chest, you found yourself staring bug eye’d at Nibs as he literally kicked his way into your room.

“Yeah, barging into my room is definitely going to catch you some problems!” Grumpy from the rude awakening, you hurled the pillow at the rabbit, catching him square in the head and boffing off his ears.

“No! Real problems! Get up!” Nibs threw himself at your bureau, pulling out clothes at random. He threw you a dress probably three sizes two small, a mismatched pair of socks, a torn tunic in a repulsive shade of faded pink, a pair of canvas work pants, and a scarf… no underpants.

‘ _... do monsters even wear underpants?’_ your half-awake brain started ‘deep thoughts’ early. Groaning, you dropped sideways on the bed.

“No! Up! The caravan is coming up the mountain!”

And suddenly you were up.

“What?! It’s two days early!” Grabbing your oversized sweater, you dragged it off and chucked it at a pile of clothes on the floor. Diving into the bureau as well, you pulled out an undershirt and a new sweater, and a clean strip of binding and underwear.

“I know! Scouts reported three wagons heading up the mountain last night. We were watching them, seeing if they were raiders, but they appear to be a half dozen, unarmed laborers. No one it could be except the cara-... are you getting _naked?!”_ Nibs suddenly realized you were changing as you started winding the linen cloth around your breasts, pulling tightly.

Huffing, you snap back, “No, I’m getting un-naked. You burst in here while I was half-dressed in pajamas. Stop staring!”

The door to your room pushed open, a wall of fire now staring at you too.

Oh god no. Grillby just added himself to the scene. He pushed into the room, groggy and half awake, his flames on low and in disarray. He wasn’t wearing a tunic, only trousers. Well, that was fair. You weren’t wearing a shirt anymore.

You fought a blush. The blush won. “Or just everyone stare. That works too!” Turning your back to them, you pulled the undershirt over the bindings, feeling the tingle of magic along your spine. You could feel Grillby’s magic from here, heat warmed the room instantly. Your blush was so brilliant, you were sure it was traveling down your back now. Repress the dream! Repress! There was a pop and rush of fire, and then Nibs giving a muffled squeak as he was grabbed and dragged backwards before the door slammed shut. At least Grillby had given you privacy to change. You pulled on clothes in new record time, even twisting your hair into a messy bun off your neck.

Shoving into the kitchen, you found Grillby had dropped Nibs on a chair and was looming over him, both of his arms crossed across his chest and flames full on crimson. You couldn’t even look at Grillby, why couldn’t he put on a shirt?!

“Nibs, how far up the mountain are they?”

“Y-you’ve got two hours, at best. They’re making good time.” Nibs pulled at his ears, looking uncomfortable.

Adrenaline wouldn’t let you be embarrassed, right now you were too busy feeling anxiety and panic. “Two hours is fine. They won’t finish loading their wagons before I finish loading mine. Is two hours enough to get Grillby up the mountain and out of sight?” Snatching the heavy leather apron off it’s peg, you pulled it over your head, fumbling with the cords behind your back.

“Yes,” said Nibs.

“No,” said Grillby.

“What? Com’mon mate, you aren’t that slow. We’ll take the footpath, it’s quicker. Only takes about five hours to get to the peak that way.”

“No. As in, I’m not leaving.”

_thump thump_

The room went silent. Only the constant crackle of Grillby’s fire was heard. … wasn’t… the dream sort of like this? ‘ _Let me come with… wherever you go.’_ The blush was back. With a vengeance. Your heart was racing.

“Are you mad!? You have to leave! If the humans find you… witch hunters hunt monsters as well as mages.” Nibs cast you a nervous glance. You were too busy turning various shades of red and pink to argue though.

Wait. Something wasn’t right. Grillby was far more anxious than a simple caravan should have elicited. He was holding the egg against his chest, not a cuddle but a defensive shielding. He was teetering at the brink of the memory of Riverside again. No, this was not like the dream. Grillby was only a few moments away from dropping straight back into anxiety. Right now, he needed you to be calm so he could latch onto something solid.

Fighting down a blush and struggling to bring your heart rate back under control, you took a deep breath. Holding out your hands you kept an even expression for his sake, “Here, give me the kid for a second. She hasn’t had her magic yet, has she?”

Grillby almost seemed surprised to realize he was holding the egg. He gave the child to you despite his surprise.

“Hey kiddo. Let’s get you taken care of. I’m going to be away for a few days. So it’ll just be you and your uncle, ok?” Releasing sparks, you rubbed at the crack in the egg gently. “Behave for him, I don’t want to come back and hear you’ve been doing mischief. Egg mischief or something. I have no idea. But I believe you could do it if you tried.” The green fire in the egg flared brighter, as if agreeing with you. Just by talking to the kid, as if nothing urgent were about to happen, you felt the tension bleed out of the atmosphere slightly.

Your dream seemed like a bitter torment now… the kid was so weak looking compared to how robust and strong she was in the dream. What did you have to do to get her that strong? And Grillby, he was a barely functional pile of cinders right now, prone to remembering the awful memories of Riverside over looking towards the future. You didn’t think even a few months would be enough to recover from the battle he went through.

“I’m staying here.” Grillby said again, while you examined the egg.

It wasn’t a _bad_ idea, per-say. The chance for discovery was almost nil once the caravan left. The downside was it would be Grillby only in this cabin for three or four days, and the egg would take every spark of magic he had. Even with Nibs making daily trips down the mountain to check on him and the kid, it would still be just Grillby by himself here. And if he was by himself, the memories would find him vulnerable.

…. Unless he wasn’t alone.

You… couldn’t argue with him. You felt your self conceding. Mostly because if it were you, you absolutely would hate being dragged out of your own home, even if it was for your own good. “You stubborn pile of molten magic… fine! But only if a rotation of guards stays here too.” You snap.

Nibs lifted one ear curiously. “Why guards?”

Because Grillby couldn’t defend himself if trying to care for his niece. Because if the majority of the human army was still searching for their lost scouts that you had demolished, a trail could lead to your place. Because you were worried.

“Because leaving your flank exposed is stupid, the guards should have some sort of outpost this low on the mountain anyway. I’m not going to be here, I don’t mind if you use my house as a forward guardpost for now. Might be worth mentioning for later about building something down here too.” You shrugged, trying to bury the worry under a casual expression.

Looking from you to the fire monster, Nibs lifted the other ear in consideration. “Well… ok. I’ll tell Gerson. He’ll probably have a small group of guards down here before sundown.” He didn’t like the situation much. But then again, neither did you. The caravan was two days early… something wasn’t right.

“Right, well, I have to load bricks.” Returning the egg to Grillby, you pat the kid over the soul, feeling the pulse of magic under your palm. Your dream-self would have checked Grillby to make sure he was alright, but you had the feeling you were going to need as much strength as possible to try and rush load the bricks. Instead, you dropped your fingers from the egg to briefly pat the back of Grillby’s hand. His hand twitched, fingers curling around the egg as he realized you were still looking up at him.

“Need help?”

Yes, you did need help. But was it help he could lend a hand with? No. You were probably twice as physically strong as Grillby was, no need for both of you to get all scuffed up doing this. “Honestly, keeping the kid out of harm’s way is enough. I don’t want her to crack further while I throw bricks around.” Dropping into a chair, you pulled on your boots and fumbled your thick gloves on. The sun was barely up, and already you felt exhausted. This did not bode well.

There was a scramble of activity around the house. As Nibs shot off towards the top of the mountain, you went into the barn and continued to load the bricks on the wagon. Grillby did the morning chores you would normally do: fed the chickens and oxen, wiped away the ash and burn marks the fight on the farm had left behind, and then vanished back into the house. You had loaded all the bath house bricks into the wagon and were starting on the larger white bricks by the time Nibs returned about half an hour later with the message that Gerson was assembling a small group of guards to make the trip down.

“How are you doing?” Nibs asked as he tried to lift you a brick. He was forced to give up before he even made it to the wagon. The brick probably weighed as much as he did.

“Not bad.” You panted from exertion. You had ditched the outer sweater and were now struggling to keep cool as you worked. “Just … a few thousand more to go.”

“Stars, Mays was right.” Nibs chuckled. You cast him a questioning look. “You’ve got arms like a tree trunk. I think you could lift Grillby over your head.”

You huffed a breath of steam, chuckling. “Ok, maybe. But, why would I do that? Seems like asking for trouble.”

“You are a trouble magnet.” Nibs corrected.

You couldn’t argue, he was technically correct.

“Speaking of magnet, how are you and Grillby doing?”

You didn’t get the reference. Were you and Grillby somehow like magnets, or was Nibs just the worst at segues ever. You reached up and rubbed at your forehead with the back of a glove. “Uh… good? I mean, he’s a polite houseguest. Teacher. Guard. Whatever he’s doing really.”

The rabbit gave you a flat stare, disappointed. What? Had you missed some innuendo? “Are all humans as dense as you, or are mages special cases? How are the _two_ of you _getting along_.”

THIS… you got. How were you getting along? … surprisingly well, in all honestly. Last night you had sat with him for hours, wet hair and wearing just an oversized sweater and a distinct lack of pants while you practiced magic and just talked. You liked being around Grillby. He was… calming. Sure, you might have exploded in the bathroom last night after you blind-checked Grillby, but… neither of you was upset by the fact the other got a front row view to inner thoughts and feeling. You knew Grillby _wanted_ to recover and be able to see his niece hatch. And Grillby knew you didn’t want to stay by yourself on this mountain anymore.

You had entered a comfortable arrangement. Awkward as all hell, but comfortable.

And it was none of Nib’s business! You gave the monster a sharp glare. “I don’t know what you are shipping, but pack it up and send it on. That’s hardly appropriate here.”

“You are five years a widow! How’s it not appropriate?”

“He’s in mourning for his family! And he’s got his niece!” You fired back. Oh no. Incoming blush approaching.

“What, just because he has a kid, he’s unapproachable?”

Frustration grit through your nerves. “Nibs, so help me, I’ll dropkick your furry ass into a pile of cinders. That’s not what I meant! He’s got a newborn niece who needs every moment of his attention, plus my own, just to survive. It’s not the place or time for … your shipping.” As sensitive and intuitive of a friend as Nibs was, sometimes the rabbit was a subtle as a club.

“I’m a courier, bird, _shipping packages_ is my _business,_ ” he taunts.

Tangling your fingers in your hair and pulling, you feel a headache threatening. Was Nibs always this… blunt? And holy crap, those innuendos. You might be dense like a brick… but you got that one! “I don’t have time for this, I have to load the wagon.”

“No time, you say. Ok, then. Oh, what’s that?” His nose twitched, the quick sniffing of a bunny in frantic search. “Hey, would you smell that. You are interested in him.”

Oh hey! There’s that blush! Hey, right on schedule. How good of a sense of smell did monsters have?

“NIBS!” Teeth grit, your face went a florid red, something like fifty shades of furious, frustrated, and flustered in fuchsia. “... you can _smell_ that?” Never before did you wish you had taken a bath so badly as you did right now. That god-damned dream...

“HA! No, I was bluffing. But you just confirmed it.” The rabbit grinned.

Peeling your gloves off, you were going to grab that rabbit, and then roll him in ashes until he went back up the mountain gray and dusty. Nibs, however, was expecting that. When you lunged, the rabbit was already gone, five feet back and laughing madly. Every time you tried to grab him, he was gone in a flash.

“Nibs! Let me catch you!”

“Nope.”

“I’m just going to have you beer-battered in ashes and cinders and then call you a fillet!”

“Yeah, I’ll pass. I know your cooking, sounds like a normal meal for you.” Why that little shit!

You were getting nowhere like this. Every attempt to grab him ended with you waving your arms at thin air. He was many times faster than you and your best hope was to catch him off guard.

So you _checked_ him.

He _certainly_ hadn’t been expecting that. Nib’s foot caught the edge of a brick and down he went. You pounced on the rabbit, shoving him under one arm and clamping down, pinning his arms to his side. His stats rolled through your mind.

_Name: Nicodemus_  
_Lvl: 1_  
_HP: 215/215_  
_DF: 10_  
_AT: 10  
_ _Status: Nibs wants to see you happy. He thinks you’d be happy with Grillby._

You tripped.

Twisting as you fell, you rolled before you hit the dirt managing to not crush Nibs under your weight. Things were not going as expected today. Ending up on the ground, wrestling a rabbit certainly wasn’t how you expected today to go. If it ended with everything on fire, you wouldn’t be surprised at this point.

“Nibs… I love you like a furry little brother, but I am going to skin your ass and turn it into _gloves_ if you keep doing this.” You growled, looking up at the sky as you kept the rabbit pinned.

“But--,”

“No! It’s not appropriate! I want you happy too, but I wouldn’t try force it by making everything awkward.”

Nibs protested, “But he--,”

“I swear, dustmop, I will noogie you, and I’m afraid your ears would combust from the friction.”

“Please don’t noogie me.” Nibs leaned away as far as he could, ears flat against his skull.

You made a fist, gently placing your knuckles against his skull. “Then this conversation is done?”

“Nnnhgg, yes,” conceded Nibs. Then he paused, “Dustmop? The heck kind of name is that…”

Releasing the monster, you shrugged and grinned awkwardly. “I… went for intimidating.”

“You failed! Was that supposed to be an insult?”

“... maybe.” Your ears tipped pink with a light blush.

“... you are a Disaster. Capital D. How have you survived this long?” Nibs reached out, patting your head.

“Dumb luck, and … ohey Grillby,” you ended on a squeak, face lighting up pink. How long has Grillby been standing there? And boy, was it hot out here. The elemental had been watching by the ruins of the kiln, leaning against it (which probably meant he had been there a while). He had his tunic back on. … you were slightly disappointed in that.

You went completely crimson, folding over until your forehead was in your lap. “Please tell me you weren’t there watching as I wrestled a bunny a quarter my size.”

Warm fingers threaded into your hair, giving your head a soft pet. “It was very intimidating watching you flatten a dustmop…Disaster.”

Aaaaand there it is. The sign you are just DONE today.

“HA LOOKIT THE TIME! BRICKS TO MOVE!” You jabbed a finger skyward at the sun as if it were a clock, then launched yourself to your feet. Or rather, you _tried_ , but it was more like rising in half-stages, with a lot of scrambling and falling over. Rocketing into the barn, you vaulted the wagon and snatched your heavy work gloves up. Your face was warm, and rolling twist of magic in your core felt uncomfortable. Fortunately, you had just the thing to forget all about that… mindless, painful manual labor.

There was a soft knock at the barn door. Looking up, you saw Grillby standing just outside, holding a plate of something.

“Ah, well, come on in, door is open. Someone was raised in a barn. And that someone was me. And also the oxen. Chickens too, if you want to get technical.” You were locked firmly into rambling. How much had Grillby heard? He had at least been there for the last bit, had he been there for the beginning of it too? Why couldn’t you stop this damned blushing!?

“Eat.” The deep voice spoke in a whisper, the only thing that didn’t cause him pain.

“Kinda in the middle of loading here. I can--,”

A forkful of omelet was jammed into your mouth. “--eat. Or I can feed you.”

And like that, you decided you _could_ eat! Fumbling a glove off, you pulled the fork from your mouth and sat on the edge of the wagon to quickly wolf down the omelet. By the taste, Grillby had substituted in butter and cheese, seasoning the rest with whatever spices you had the in cupboard. The whole thing was drenched in grease and delicious.

You should say something. Apologize for Nib’s behavior or tell him that you do not feel what the rabbit claims you do. You certainly feel ‘things’ for Grillby, but perhaps not as Nibs wanted. You feel… companionship. His losses fit with your own, both of you damaged in the same way, and reacting in the same way. You didn’t want him to spend the next five years running from his own shadows like you had. You didn’t want him to be alone anymore than you wanted to be alone either. You wanted to help. You _needed_ to help.

The dream still clawed at your mind. Why would he insist on staying here with the risk of discovery so high?

You made a decision. And that decision was a stupid one. You _checked_ him.

_Name: Grillby_  
_Lvl: 1_  
_HP: 720/940-_  
_AT: 95_  
_DF: 40  
_ _Status: Do not noogie the fire elemental. He might not combust with friction, but it’s an all around bad idea._

“Good advice, I think I will take it.” Well, there was the ‘less than useful’ info a check could give you.

Grillby lifted a brow, but did not check you back. You knew monsters considered checking the same as a handshake, but you had also asked him not to do it unless you were in bad shape. Grillby stuck to his word. But he was giving you a curious expression.

“Uh,” words failed you. Dammit, english language. “You…”

“Me.” Grillby finally said, as you struggled with words. Then he gave a shrug. Yep. That campfire had gotten twice as sassy since you first met him.

Snorting, you took another bite of food. “I was wondering just…,” your nerve was lost. You couldn’t even make a stupid joke. This was pretty common though… if put on the spot, you lost all courage.

“Find something for me while in the outpost?” Grillby asked.

You were grateful for the subject change. Sighing in relief, you nodded, “Sure! What do you need?”

“Liquor that doesn’t taste like it was distilled in a boot.”

“Don’t worry, Grill, that’s item number one on my list too. I’ve got that covered.” You chuckled, finish off the egg and handing him the plate as you returned to work. “I’ll get enough this time around to take us through winter until spring.”

“You don’t mind me staying over the winter?” The dry rasp of his voice was almost drown out by the heavy _clak_ of bricks clattering.

Oh. Well…looks like your habit of being accidentally vague returned to bite you in the rump. Your subconscious was cackling -- had a dream about him staying over the winter and accidentally invite to stay? YOU ARE WELCOME. “I… guess I don’t? I mean, winter is when I have the most free time, so if you were going to teach me control, I could put full effort into learning then. I can promise, I don’t sass my teachers… much. And you are a pretty low maintenance houseguest… guard… teacher, whatever it is that you are.”

“What about ‘friend’?”

You nearly fumbled a brick. Were you blushing? Stupid question, of _course_ you were blushing.

Looking up, you saw Grillby was watching you with flushed flames. When Nibs and you had become friends, it was more of a general ‘hey, we’ve known each other for years, I keep showing up at your place and you keep giving me tea… guess we’re friends now’ kinda thing. Neither of you had the guts to flat out ask if you wanted to be friends. Grillby was asking you point blank if you were friends with him, after knowing him for only… less than a week?

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You smiled softly. “Anyone who can handle my stupid jokes, sarcasm, awkwardness, and ability to trip over my own two feet is a keeper.”

You could see a smile through the flames. He reached out, catching your forearm and keeping you from heading back to the pile of bricks. “Do you--,”

“Hey! Forward scouts reporting the caravan is within… am I interrupting something?” Nibs had sprung into the barn looking alarmed, which quickly morphed into amusement.

Simultaneously, you and Grillby both sigh, and apply your palms to your faces. You wouldn’t have been surprised to know that Nibs had been lurking outside the barn for that exact moment.

“Anyway, this is a one hour warning, the caravan is almost here. Grillby, time to get you inside.” Nibs gestured down the road.

“But you won’t have all the bricks loaded by then,” Grillby looked over at the massive pile left yet to go.

You waved him off. “It’s fine. Every time the caravan comes up, they are almost offended I’ve loaded my wagon in advance. As if knowing a woman can out muscle them kind of puts them on edge. At least they’ll have their pride intact if I have to ask for help.”

Walking next to him as you headed inside to get ready, you felt you almost didn’t need your underlayers of clothing either. It was like standing next to the kiln in full blaze. Wiping the back of your forearm across your face to dab away a trickle of sweat you heard Grillby give an amused huff.

“I just rubbed ash and dirt all over my face, didn’t I?”

Grillby nodded.

“This is my life. As my friend, you are going to have to get used to it.”

“As your friend, I am obligated to carry a towel on myself at all times, to try and prevent it though.” Reaching into the back of his belt, he untucked a towel he had folded neatly there. Tucking his hand under your chin, he lifted your face as rubbed gently against your cheek. The dirt rubbed away. And a blush rose in your face. He was too close!

“It’s a losing fight Grill! Tell him, Nibs!” You called out to the rabbit.

But the rabbit had already vanished into the house, leaving just you and Grillby and your burning blush. Go figure.


	23. Chapter 23

You gathered up your discarded sweater and went to go find a dress to change into.  Grillby trailed behind you, taking your sweater and shaking out the ash as you went to change, Nibs took a seat in the kitchen to wait. You didn’t need to pack much for the trip down. Just the lists of supplies you’d need, gold, and a change of warmer clothing for travel. Everything fit into a single rucksack. You just needed to get into the awful, stiff dresses that were commonplace in the cities now. 

… Get… in to…

Errr…

Oh dear.

You couldn’t get the dress on.

A flash of memory crawled across your brain, suddenly you remembered sitting at the kitchen table with Mays as she _complimented your muscular arms_. Oh god no. You had put on so much muscle mass from being a mason that the ill-fitting dresses no longer fit at all. You had the skirt over your hips, but everything from there up didn’t fit worth a damn. Your clothing was all over five years old, back from when you had just started learning how to be a brickmaker. Slowly, year by year, the dresses grew tighter and more uncomfortable until finally you could tear the sleeves off if you bent your arms.

You HAD to wear a dress in the city, it wasn't an option to go in men's clothing.  It would be social suicide, and your status as a 'strange widow' would change into a 'insane pariah' before you could explain why.  Not sure what else to you, you were forced to dive into the deepest corners of the closet. Almost everything was too small... except for one thing. Something Mays had made for you a year ago as a thank you gift. It was new enough, it probably fit. Courage was in short supply, but it was literally your last choice to wear this. Swallowing down your regret, you shimmied out of the undersized dress and pulled the new one on.

Well… it fit.

It fit almost _too_ well.

The skirt was a deep red color that was usually seen on wealthy merchants and royalty. There were at least two underskirts under that, giving the whole thing far too much volume to move around easily in. Over the top, you wore a plain white peasant shirt with corded sleeves. And over that… a handtooled leather bodice that was far too form-fitting for you and was now encroaching into corset territory. The lack of sleeves on the bodice meant your muscular arms weren’t getting stuck.  It... looked good.  But now, you’d only have to worry about the wandering stares you’d get.

When Mays had given it to you, you had taken one look and gone crimson in the face. Then thanked her, and immediately lost the dress in the closet. Now it was back… for revenge.

“Ok, I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. But we’re doing this, dress. Just don’t let my breasts escape, and I swear you will make it back home in one piece.” You threatened the dress.

Your cleavage threatened to press over the edge of the bodice when you took a breath.

“No! Stop doing that!” You went immediately scarlet.

There was a gentle series of knocks on the door. Grillby’s knocks. “I’m fine! Just… talking to myself.” You fought the blush. You couldn’t say you were yelling at your boobs. He’d only just decided to be your friend. Friends either split a seam laughing madly if they heard you were talking to your breasts, or they’d _run._

Another knock at the door, this one was cushioned by soft fur. Nibs knocking. “We’re running out of time. Are you dressed?”

That was the curtain call. You had to leave. Shivering, you pulled the rucksack over your shoulder and pushed open the door to the kitchen. Maybe you could get through today without any comments about the dress.

“Hey! That’s the dress Mays made for you! Looks like it fits.” Nibs bounced on his toes when he saw you, his eyes brightening.

Grillby brightened too. A brilliant, wild shade of red fire that crackled in surprise.  His citrine eyes traveled up your body, getting stuck at the sharp waistline of the dress and promptly glazing over.

And now you went scarlet again to match. “I’m going to need my cloak, and I swear I’m not taking it off for this whole trip.”

Nibs frowned, “Why? That dress is lovely. Isn’t it?” Turning to Grillby, the rabbit elbowed his shins. Grillby remained frozen in place. Yep, that was your sign that this dress was too damn much.

Snatching your cloak off the peg, you swung it over your shoulders and slipped the pin in place. The fabric covered the full bodice, but every time you lifted your hands the cloak would flap open and reveal the sharp wasp flare of the bodice and skirt. How did ‘proper’ ladies deal with this? You racked your brain, but came up blank. At the Academy, you wore robes. Boring, plain robes, that were the bastard children of dresses and bed sheets. Nobody looks flattering in robes, let alone the elderly sages. Robes were saggy, formless dresses.

You imagined a 100 year old sage in your dress.

Why did you do that? Brain… WHY!?

The beard clashes horribly with the bodice.

“Disaster?” Grillby’s voice brought you back from your traumatizing thoughts.

“Really? That’s what you’re going with? I’m ‘Disaster’ now?” You gave a huff of amusement, tugging the cloak down and straightening it.

“If it fits…,” he lead off, looking a bit relieved you were no longer staring into space with a horrified expression. He offered you the satchel with the egg. It was time for goodbyes.

Pulling out the egg, you started charging the kid with as much magic as she could soak. “Okay… plan. Nibs, can you hide in the woods outside the farm? When the caravan leaves, knock on the door. That’ll be Grillby’s sign to leave the cellar. After that, nobody should be coming up that road for three days. If you see anyone before then… it won’t be me.”

“Gotcha. I’m gone.” Nibs nodded, ears bobbling and he bolted out the front door.

“Cellar’s not the most comfortable, and you’ll probably be down there for an hour or two while the other caravans load up. The good news… at least it won’t be dark with you in there.” You gave Grillby an apologetic smile. The egg in your hands was full of magic, she couldn’t take any more. Still, the tiny soul made a good effort in eating more than she normally did, but you still had magic to burn.

As you were the reigning queen of bad ideas, one of your trademarked bad ideas crawled to the front of your mind. The egg couldn’t take any more magic… but could Grillby soak some of yours to bolster his own? Was that a thing monsters did when they weren’t in danger of dying too? You knew he was short about a quarter of his magic from your earlier check.

“Ok, so… stop me if I’m suggesting something … um… socially unacceptable for monsters, but uh… would it be helpful if you absorbed what magic I have left? I mean, so you have just a little bit more to give next time the kid gets hungry?” You expected the elemental to give you a scornful look, or flare red, or shoot your question down politely.

Instead, Grillby nodded, holding his hand out to you. “It’s … maybe not normal… but acceptable to do.”

Sighing, you felt the tension start to bleed out of your shoulders. Putting your hand into his palm, you felt your skin tingle from the heat. Your fingers closed on his palm, the flames that curled around your fingers not hurting you in the slightest. Venting magic slowly, you could feel Grillby’s hand squeeze tightly as he pulled the stray magic into to his own core. It wouldn’t be a 1:1 exchange, some magic was lost as sparks evaporated or vanished or ...hell if you knew, went to a party or something. By the time you started running out of steam, Grillby seemed to be making up for your lack of magic with his own wild flames. Fire jumped and snapped like a wildfire blaze, heat poured off of him and flooded the kitchen, causing your skin to immediately glisten with sweat.

Your dream came crawling back again. You wondered just how hot it would be if you nuzzled against him… oh shit brain NO STOP ABORT.

“Sorry.” Stepping back, Grillby attempted to rein in his flames. You quickly retreated a step too, fingers flying to your face. But...You followed him with a check to make sure he was alright.

_HP: 970/940-  
_ _Status: Grillby hasn’t felt this good in… a while._

Sighing and giving an exhausted grin, you pulled out a kitchen chair to sink heavily into it. “I didn’t know you could have more HP than your base stat.” You didn’t feel cold from fatigue at least. The blazing inferno in the room wouldn’t _let_ you feel cold.

“Exceptional cases only.” Grillby flexed his scarred hand. The white lines between his embers remained, but fire filled in the damaged area more than usual. “Shouldn’t you have kept some magic, for traveling?”

Normally, you would have. The roads were dangerous. But you were in a caravan. If there was trouble and you used magic, there would be even _more_ trouble afterwards. Best to rely on the caravan guards and safety in numbers than magic. “It’ll be fine. I’ll have recovered my magic by the time I head back up the mountain.”

It was time to wait for the caravan now, you couldn’t risk the wagons arriving and someone spotting Grillby through a window. He climbed down into the cellar, and you passed a chair down to him. “Be careful. If you run out of magic, please, ask for help. Nibs or Gerson or… is Sir Irus going to be here? Doesn’t matter… _just ask for help.”_ You caught his wrist as he reached up and gave a warm squeeze. Grillby closed his hand on your own wrist, his thumb brushing across the side of your wrist as he squeezed back.

“You be careful too. Head down, cloak up,” said the monster. You closed the lid to the cellar and took a deep breath. You didn’t want to leave. You hated the city. Right now, you just wanted to hide in the cellar too. Fidgeting with the edge of your sleeves, you took a seat at the table and waited for the caravan to arrive.

You didn’t didn’t have to wait long. There was a sound outside, a scrape of the heavy gate across the wall being opened, and the call of a greeter. You played dumb, going out into the yard as if you had _no idea_ who these visitors were.

“You’re _early!”_ you said, not faking the disapproval in your voice. “The cart isn’t even loaded yet! I wasn’t going to be ready for another two days!”

“Sorry ma’am. The weather has been taking a turn for the worst. We’d rather not get caught on the road in a storm. The order is filled, isn’t?”

“It is… barely. Could I… ask for help loading my wagon?” You were aware that the caravan captain and his men were staring at you in something like awe. None had ever seen you wear anything but the black mourning dresses, or your work clothes.

“Help? Hell, the boys will do it for you! Can’t have a lady doing this heavy lifting.” The man puffed his chest, and unless you were mistaken, he was flexing a bit too.

Sad thing was, if you flexed, your arms would make his look as frail as Asgore’s reedy limbs. Best not to flex in front of the captain.

You were an awkward host under the best of situations. This was not the best of situations. You made an awkward offer of tea, before you promptly remembered you had no tea. The captain kept trying to strike up a conversation with you with varying degrees of failure -- you were usually quiet and shy around strangers. By the time the wagons were loaded and underway, you felt this trip could not possibly go any slower.

You would be wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAKE THIS CHAPTER! TAKE THIS CHAPTER AND SHOVE IT!  
> ... ok, not exactly happy with this chapter. It's short, but it's also the best place for a break. And it's the last 'good' one you'll have in a while. Expect some angst next.
> 
> I got myself re-addicted to ARK with some friends. We haven't played in quite a while, so it's like a whole new game. And unfortunately, it's a whole new, hyper addictive game. I've put my friends under strict order to literally yell me out of the game for a few hours a week to do some writing. So at the moment, I'm keeping up with the story! You don't even know how i click with dinos. *Jumps on to a pteranadon, and barrel rolls off into the sunset*


	24. Chapter 24

You pushed open the front door to your cottage, unfurling your cloak from your shoulders and shaking it sharply to chase the ash out of it before hanging it on the peg. A heavy crate in your other arm nearly spilled to the floor, just one of many boxes you would have to unload. “Bleh, that was the longest trip I have had to suffer through for a while. Hey, I’m home!”

No one greeted you. You could hear a soft tap of movement in one of the rooms of the house. The entry hall still had the straw mattress in it, as well as a folded pile of clothes beside it, but no one was sleeping right now.

Placing the heavy wooden crate under one arm at the entry hall, you toed off your boots. “Grillby? Gerson? Nibs? Sorry, that took so long. Could I get a hand unloading some of the supplies before I take the wagon to Home?”

You pushed your boots under the wall rack, peering into the kitchen curiously. The hearth was out, not even cold embers under a pile of ash. Odd, the hearth was similar to the kiln, you had layered so much magic on it over the years you didn’t think it was possible to extinguish the fire there. Reaching forward, you tossed a thatch of wood on the half burnt pile, and gave it a sharp prod of magic.

Nothing happened.

“What the…,” lifting your hand, you peered at your palm as if you could spot the problem. “Seriously? I haven’t cast magic since I left, I can’t possibly be out.” You couldn’t check yourself, but you were sure if you could it would show you had a full reserve of magic. Something had you blocked.

With a disgusted sigh, you had to hope to god it wasn’t Gerson’s warning of magical constipation.

There was a heavy _clunk_ from the house. Where _was_ everyone? “Grillby?” Pausing before you left the kitchen, you pulled up the trap door to the cellar. Empty. “Gerson? Nibs?” Your bedroom was empty too, though by the looks of it someone had claimed your room while you were away. The bed was an unmade rumple of blankets and smelled faintly like ash and burnt cedar.

You didn’t need magic to tell you something wasn’t right. Whipping out of the room, feet slipping on the rug as you tore through the kitchen, you charged to the other end of the house. “Grillby!” You shouldered open the bathroom door, finding the room empty as well. There was a large puddle of water by the tub, and it was swirled dark with ash. Or dust.

“No nononono…” skidding on the puddle, you ran to the only room left in the house. Bursting into the room that would have belong to your child, you found the crib was back in the room. A pale glowing egg placed in the crib, barely flickering with magic. The soul was starving, so low on magic she barely had the strength to keep herself together. The heart shaped soul was coming apart, small cracks spreading across the white soul. Lunging for the egg, your foot caught something that you had mistaken for a rolled rug. Leaning into the fall, you rolled instead falling face first into the floor, coming to a halt by the crib and in a kneeling position.

The object you had tripped on was Grillby. Or rather, it barely was. Grillby was down to bare embers, only a weak red light glowing between the dark coals. He looked even worse than when you first saw him on that rainy night. If there was any magic left in him, it was literally everything he had just to open his eyes to see what had stumbled over him.

You gave a noise somewhere between a whimper and a cry of alarm. Changing directions, you scrambled to Grillby, carefully sliding a hand under his neck. The embers burned your hand, the skin peeling in an instant. No longer did he have the control to keep his temperature cool, it was like putting your hand into a dying campfire. Crying out, you jerked your hand away.

“What did you do, why didn’t you get help?!” You reached for magic out of desperation, but couldn’t quite grasp it.

“Not… me. Help… help her,” his voice was a dry and papery rasp. Your heart gave a sickening drop, and ice froze it solid in your chest. Dust was drifting to the floor around him. He was falling, and he wouldn’t accept help. He had already given up.

“No! I can help you both,” you shoved your hands under his neck again, hauling him upright. Burning embers peeled your skin, immediately blisters and a furious red welts spread across your arm. “I brought liquor from the city. I’ll just give you a burst of magic, then give the kid the rest. You can… you _need_ to hold out until I can grab a bottle!” Your panic wouldn’t let the sparks go. Your magic was locked down.

Grillby’s breathing was the rattle of lose coals, ash and dust came up when he puffed. “She… doesn’t have that long. I gave… everything… to her. It wasn’t enough.”

The puddle of water in the bathroom, and the ash smeared trail rose in your mind. “What did you do?”

His fire was going out. “Gave her… everything,” he rasped.

Under the dying coals and embers, you could see something white flickering. It was fractured and cracked, but it looked like it was what was left of his soul. You kept trying to reach for your magic. Every time you almost caught the tail of your control, it would slip away like water. “Don’t do this, you need to stay awake. I can save you both,” you were begging now. Why was it so hard?! You could hear the soul’s voice, barely more than a whisper, crying for help.

“You love her, right?” Grillby’s citrine eyes were starting to go out. “Save her.”

You were crying. Tears had started. And the magic still wouldn’t come. “I don’t want either of you to die! I can s-s...” your voice cut out. You couldn’t do it. Realistic expectations told you could couldn’t save them both, that trying would result in not enough magic to help either of them.

You could only save one of them or you would save neither.

Tears jolted you from your dreams, shooting up from your bed at the inn. Salty half-dried trails of tears were still damp on your face. Just a nightmare. When had you fallen asleep anyway? It was still midday, and you almost never napped. Though your poor sleep you got at night might have something to do with that.

The nightmares had been nonstop since you arrived here in the city. Every time you drifted off, memories crawled through your dreams, and you found yourself bolt upright in bed and sweating in fear.

“‘One or two days’ he said… maybe he should get a calendar!” you grumbled as you fumbled for a bottle beside the bed and downed a mouthful of something blindingly potent in hopes of erasing that nightmare. It had been a _week_ now. One. Full. Week. And the holdup was due to one scribe.

Perhaps everything had gone well enough once you arrived at the outpost, but it had all gone downhill in a hurry. Your first day in town had been just like any other visit: booking a room at the local inn for the short duration you would be there and starting the laborious task of hunting down supplies. Luck even smiled down on you and permitted you to find almost every item on the list, everything from Nibs’ fabrics to Asgore’s huge amount of supplies, even little Gail’s watermelon.

When things started looking _this_ good, you should have been immediately suspicious.

Gaster’s list consisted of glassware (which you found and located the means to make more yourself later), ink (which you got the ingredients to make), and some rare books. Of which you found exactly _one._ Why such a small outpost would have one of the tomes at a bookstore was beyond you, but when you asked to purchase it, then you ran into a snag. The book was _not for sale_ , part of the merchant’s private collection. A good part of an hour was spent bargaining, haggling, and nearly begging to get him to part with it before a fair exchange was made. A scribe would copy the book over, and you would buy the copy. That way all parties were happy.

Except for the fact you were extremely _not_ happy now. The scribe hadn’t realized the book was laden with complex illustrations when he first gave you the estimate, and by the time he reached the scientific drawings he was forced to add more and more time to your stay. A week in this filthy outpost was torture.

The first few days, you had managed to busy yourself finding small knick knacks or things you thought Asgore would have fun with. After that, you had taken to spending most of your time tucked away in your room at the inn and leaving only for meals. Nightmares and strange dreams plagued you incessantly, robbing you of any real sleep. If you drank enough liquor, the dreams were empty blank holes instead… which you preferred except for the morning-after hangovers. Deep smudges of exhaustion make your cheeks gaunt, and your eyes felt gritty all the time.

First, nightmares had found you. You didn’t dream when you were at home and rarely had nightmares, but when you traveled they tended to follow you. Dreams of twisted memories from the Academy caused you to wake in a sweat, choked sobs and bitter tears always threatening to spill free. Or that awful day on the side of the mountain when you found your husband, dead. Or worse, the day you realized your child was no longer living, and you had done nothing to help. Sometimes, your brain would combine all of them into new horrors that you couldn’t quite recall as you shot out of bed screaming. The nightmares were the worst.

Rubbing at your eyes, you could feel the foggy haze of the liquor dragging you back down into something deeper than sleep. Sure, it was midday, but there was nothing to do at the moment other than sleep and wait. You’ve hit your limit on human interaction for the rest of the year, all you wanted was to go home.

And with that last thought in mind, you were tossed back into the depths of dreaming.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

“Hey.”

You looked up. Grillby was standing to your side, peering down at you. The skillet in your hands held the near-disaster of your own attempts at cooking a neatly folded omelet like Grillby could make. It smelled delicious, and the strange sharp bite of magic came from it. Somehow you had successfully infused magic into the meal. It wasn’t pretty, but it was at least passable. The first omelet had come out nearly perfect if a bit crooked, but this one suffered from some kind of ‘egg deflation’ in which it gave up half way through.

“So tell me truthfully… more butter, or less?” You asked, frowning down at the jagged tears in the omelet where it had stuck to the pan when you were trying to fold it.

Giving a hum of consideration, Grillby stepped behind you to look down over your shoulder. He was over a good head taller than you, and the cooktop was really only meant for one to stand in front of it. Reaching around under your left arm with his own, he took the handle of the skillet from you and gave it a shake, sliding the omelet across the pan. His other arm reached around your side as well, but instead of taking the spatula from you, it curled around your wrist where he guided you to flip the omelet without breaking it further.

You had been trapped between a hot cook fire and a chest of flames which felt like a hot blaze of summer sun.

And… you were okay with this.

“It’s fine. Just more finesse flipping.” His fingers slid down your hand to your cover your own fingers, guiding your motions on how to flip the omelet. “Try again.”

Okay, you could do this! It was just a tiny jerk of the wrist, not like lifting a twenty pound brick or stabbing a piece of meat. Wiggling a little against Grillby’s arms, still caging you in, you managed to poke the spatula under the omelet. With a small gesture, like popping someone the finger behind their back, you managed to slip the spatula under the egg and tossed it into the air. It fell neatly back into the pan.

“I did it! See?” Smiling, you looked back at Grillby.

The fire elemental was look down, alright. But not at the pan. You realized quite suddenly that his position had given him an interesting vantage point of ‘down-your-shirt’. Lifting one hand up, you grabbed the edge of your tunic and pulled it tight against your neck, interrupting his view.

Grillby suddenly popped back to attention. “Yes, very nice.”

“You aren’t even paying attention, you sooty piece of coal!” You shoved your elbow back, catching him in the hip.

Despite your elbowing, Grillby didn’t move and remained caging you in place. “Fine, I will watch this time. Do it again,” he said solemnly.

You gave him a critical stare, then huffed. Fine, if he was paying attention this time… you readied to flip the egg a second time, mindful of the hot press of chest that leaned against your back as Grillby looked down. Your perfect attempt at flipping was ruined though, when the monster leaned down and buried his head in your neck. You put in just a little _too_ much effort into repeating the gesture on your own, and the whole omelet flipped out of the pan, and straight onto the floor with a plop.

Silence.

“That’s your piece.” You said.

“And how’d you mess that one up, Disaster?” Grillby chuckled, and fire spread down your spine at the sound and vibrations against your neck.

“It was sabotage!” your voice broke into a squeak at the end as you felt the soft press of teeth against your shoulder. “That’s also sabotage!”

“You aren’t going to share the other one?” Grillby mumbled into your neck, sounding not at all put out by the failed omelet.

“Oh hellfire no. That one is mine. Recompense for sabotaging me!” You dropped the spatula to the counter, bracing both hands against the surface to push back against Grillby, hoping he’d move.

He didn’t budge an inch. All your efforts only pressed your entire backside from thighs to shoulders against Grillby, and he took advantage of that by curling his arms around your waist and giving a sharp pop and crackle as his flames snapped with crimson sparks.

“You can have it. I just need some magic then.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, tilting your head to look back at him. “Like…. Just sparks?”

Grillby nodded, rubbing his cheek against the crown of your head.

You could give some sparks of magic to him. But… why not get revenge for the loss of a perfectly good omelet too? “Sure, let me turn around, you big lug.”

Giving a huff of hot air, Grillby loosened his grip across your hipbones, letting you turn in his arms. Now both of his arms fastened across your back, where your spine curled towards your hips. With your arms no longer caged in by him, you lifted your palm and sparks danced across your fingers for a moment. Stray magic fueled Grillby’s flames, causing them to wick brightly.

“Here, lean down, you towering bonfire.” You reached up with your other hand and tugged on the collar of his tunic.

“You sure like strange nicknames,” Grillby mussed, amused.

“Hmmnmm, know what else I like though?” you nodded, smiling brightly as Grillby did as you bid and leaned down. You could now reach. Perfect height.

So you kissed him.

Sparks crackled and magic released far faster than you meant to, your control had decided ‘fuck all this shit’ and bailed out on you along with your common sense. All stray magic was drawn to Grillby, who went rigid. He had absorbed so much magic so quickly that his flames actually went lavender.

“I like revenge,” you cackled.

Grillby remained frozen, his face blank and his eyes wide citrine gems of surprise.

“I also like you,” you leaned forward, your forehead resting against his chest.

Grillby’s chest gave a sudden lurch and he sucked a sharp gasp of air in shock. The lavender flames went a wild flare of crimson and heat exploded around you. But you were not burnt. The shock melted into realization, which burned quickly into elation. Suddenly, you were not on your feet anymore, but being swung around the kitchen by a laughing elemental.

“W-what are you-- put me down! Down, as in, on the ground! Or … this works too, I guess,” You blinked with disorientation as you found yourself lifted into Grillby’s arms, bridal style.

“Come with me!” Grillby leaned down, bumping his forehead into yours as he grinned at you.

“And… where are we going?”

“Anywhere. No where. As long as we are together.”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

You jerked awake from your dream, drenched in sweat of a different kind of heat.  Your hair stuck up at strange angles from sweat and auburn ringlets of curls had been twisted free from your bun.  “I’m fucked,” you swore, as the dream fragments still clung to your mind. You didn’t just want Grillby’s company and friendship… you were smitten like some damn flowering girl!

Nibs would be doing backflips out the window in joy if he knew.

For a moment, you thought Grillby was in the room with you, but as you turned you found yourself only staring at the fireplace in full inferno. Your magic had reached out and started a blaze while you slept, the dream world and the real world making no difference to your awful control.

… it was like peeing the bed as a kid. How embarrassing.

Giving a shove of magic, you let the fire calm back down, the towering blaze dropping back down to a low burn.

The strange, certainly non-nightmarish dreams set upon you a few days ago. At first, they had been so realistic that you honestly thought you were back at home. It had just been you, and the farm… and Grillby. The first dream had been nothing more than a garbled memory of the last incident of panic he had suffered. In your dreams, Grillby was a lot more... handsy. And your dream self certainly didn’t mind cozying up to the stubborn bonfire. Your dreams were devolving into penny tales involving far too much bodice ripping for you. Well, it was a good thing the inn had private rooms. You hadn’t been so bothered by such things in years.

The heat dreams were just as sleep-depriving as the nightmares were… for different reasons. You were an anxious wreck by now, your thoughts kept returning to Grillby and his niece. You had promised you would be gone for three or four days… you had far exceeded that already. Would they think you had been attacked on the road? Hellfire, would there even still _be_ a road? The weather had been rainy and miserable the whole time. You very well could return home to find a large chunk of the mountain road gone. You hoped the kid was ok. You hoped Grillby hadn’t had another flash of memory from the battle at Riverside. You hoped he had the magic to keep the kid stable.

Guilt clawed at your ribs, making it hard to breathe. You had gotten used to venting magic on a regular basis for the egg, now your magic had built up and it was feeling … uncomfortable.

Like a wraith from the underworld, you heard Gerson’s raspy voice in your head call out “...constipation…”

“... God DAMMIT GERSON.” You hissed, clutching at your cloak as you dragged the hood further down your face to hide your blush of rage. Though… he wasn’t wrong. A week of not using magic at all left you itchy, grumpy, and jumpy all at the same time. It was a scenario in which ‘fireball-to-the-face’ was the most likely outcome.

There was a sharp knock at your door.

Jerking upright, you bolted to the door and jerked it open to find the little scribe standing before you, a square of oil cloth wrapped around the book. “Ok thank god, tell me the book is done.”

“It is! Sorry for the delay. Um… we thank you for your patronage!” The scribe squeaked, thrust the book at you, and then bolted.

You looked down at your dress, and hissed in horror. Your bodice had slipped while you were napping, and the top of your breasts had popped from the fabric like muffins rising from a pan.

“… Dress… you have betrayed my fragile trust. There will be only doom upon you now,” you snarled to the fabric, shoving your breasts back into the tight laced dress.

The dress was gloating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARK addiction is back, and in full swing. We have 1 friend who makes as many awful puns as me, much to his wife's insane frustration. We already regret not naming the tribe 'Why Compy be friends?" like the song! ... what, you mean the song isn't about tiny annoying dinosaurs?! Well that song has lost much of it's joy then. I'd say a good half of our dinos have pun based names. We're awful people *grinning widely*
> 
> This awful mess of a chapter is the bits and snippits I liked but either cut because I didn't want the plot to go there, or it was mindless fluff. The Disaster is going to suffer from awful dreams until she gets home... whenever THAT happens *cackles*
> 
> NOTE: This chapter got a real half-assed proofing! If you notice errors, point them out, and I'll fix them! Thank you!


	25. Chapter 25

It had been one week of hell to be in the small outpost.  You had dealt with a week's worth of awkward questions about the 'village' neighbors you were gathering supplies for, a week's worth of interested remarks from men who were just a little to keen in your figure, and a full week of wincing every time some guard cursed monsters for making him have double roster (the guard's had double roster duty because bandits, even an idiot could see that).   Now you had Gaster's copied book, FINALLY you could head home! You had the wagon prepped and only needed to load the massive pile of supplies and harness the oxen in, and you could leave this hellhole. It was a bit stupid to leave so late in the day instead of at dawn, but you couldn’t stand another moment in this place. Traveling through the night would be worth it to get home. Even the oxen were anxious to leave and be back to their familiar barn. You had never seen them so motivated to pull that wagon in your life. The overloaded cart shot down the road as if pulled by a full team of draft horses rather than by two surly cows.

You had been away from home for seven days, add on another day for the long trip up the mountain. If Gerson had come through, Grillby should have had guards and extra monsters there to make sure the egg didn’t run out of magic. But still...something had you extremely uneasy.

And it wasn’t the storm that was sitting on the mountain either.

Hours ticked on, with the oxen getting progressively slower each mile they dragged the cart. Rain started up again and you pulled your cloak tightly around your shoulders, ducking into the hood. Seeing that the ox were struggling to see the road with the rush of water around them, you got off the wagon and walked in front of them, leading them by the reins. A heavy oak branch fallen near the road was used as a walking stick, prodding the deeper puddles to see if they were mostly mud or sand.  As hours ticked on, you found yourself leaning against it more and more.  Exhaustion from a full week of not sleeping was turning your limbs to clay.

Night fell with the rain, soaking the world in darkness. You were barely half way home.

“Keep up the pace, cows. We’ll be walking through the night. We are beyond fashionably late and well into the 'I thought you were dead' category now.  Ah shit, I promised Asgore he could be down at the farm by now.” You really hoped the kid hadn’t made the trip down the mountain, only to realize you weren’t back yet. Your nerves were starting to splinter and fray, a sharp whistle ringing in your ears.

…

No wait, that was a scream.

Hissing in alarm, you jerked your hood off to try and listen for the scream again. There was silence in the woods, just the patter of rain and-- no wait, there! Further down the road, back the way you had come, there was a frenzy of activity. Voices were calling out in alarm, and you heard the sharp clash of steel.

Another group of raiders. This far down the mountain, it could be humans attacking monsters… or humans attacking merchants and other travelers. It could be the army fending off bandits, or the army attacking another army… it could even be sages out on the king’s judgement.

Your blood ran cold, but fire curled in your gut.

“I… need to help. I’m going to help! Cows! Watch my shit! And don’t you dare walk off a cliff!” Clenching a hand against the oak stick, you turned and bolted back down the road, struggling to keep the cloak pulled tight against you.

As you approached, the sounds of the fight grew louder, and you could make out deep thrumming booms and the hissing crackle of magic. That narrowed it down to humans vs monsters… or sages vs anyone. One of those two was a fight you would not be able to escape from if you walked into it, and the other was a fight you wouldn’t back down from if you got there.

You walked into the end of a battle. Monsters were rushing up the road in a blind panic, the last signs of a fight behind them. Less than a dozen refugees were in this group, all of them soaked and terrified. They came to a halt on the road as they spotted you, clutching at one another in exhaustion and terror.

“Wait, it's okay. Or … it will be okay. Keep going up the road, I can hold them back.” You held out one hand to the monsters in peace, but they flinched away.

You needed to _show_ them you meant to harm.

So you _checked_ one.

The information you got showed just how hard these refugees had it. The monster was barely in one piece, and he was certainly one of the lucky ones.

The monster blinked, mouth opening in awe, and then checked you back. You didn’t flinch this time. Whatever information he got, it was comforting at least. Tears welled in his eyes, and he nodded. “Thanks. But… we can’t go much further.”

“There is a wagon ahead. Get there. See if you can’t guide those stubborn cows up the mountain to Ebott. Take your time. I’ll be right behind you.” You tried to sound calm… strange, but you actually _felt_ calm this time. You always ran from your fights. You didn’t want to run this time… but you also didn’t want to fight.  You were tired of fighting.  You were simply tired, period.  But a sense of justice burned in your core, hotter than even your hottest flames.

With an angry hiss, the walking stick in your hands began to smoke and crackle, licks of fire beginning to pour from the heavy wood. Your magic was reaching out for a target, and found the helpless staff. Flitting piles of ash stuck to your cloak in the rain, staining it a black and ashy gray. Great, it looked like you had just murdered an entire band of refugees.

… wait…

...you could work with this.

You didn’t have long to wait. There were at least seven humans that you could see that came up the road, all armed and all covered in a layer of damp and gritty dust. You knew who these humans were -- part of the same group that had chased Grillby and Gerson up the mountain.

Your stupidity level went through the roof.

“HEY!” Lifting the oaken staff, you slammed it into the ground and magic exploded around the stick. Fire roared to life, the stick now made of flames instead of timber. A flamecloak curled over your wool cloak, crackling ominously in the downpour. Magic fire reached out across the wet ground as if it was dry kindling, creeping through the mud hissing and spitting as it went.

The humans lost their momentum.

… shit… what was your plan again? Kill everyone? That… was an awful plan. And it wouldn’t stop the humans from returning. When this forward party failed to check in, there would be another group sent to find them. Ebott was now a target.

Time for a backup plan. Bullshit everyone.

“You know you’re poaching,” you jabbed the oak staff out towards the nearest human, fire curling around the stick like a angry snake. He took several steps back, blinking blindly as his night vision was wiped out by the brilliant flames.

“P-poa...wha?”

“This is sage business. You think a bunch of… whatever you are… have any business taking my job from me?” Snarling, you made one step forward. Your magic, already bound up and built up to critical levels was crackling sparks. Sages were given free rein to do ‘whatever it takes’ to follow the king’s rules. Destroy a village to get to their target, sacrifice an platoon to wipe out another army, take what they needed when they need it… sages were the human version of the boogeymonster. Known for wearing shapeless robes and carrying magical staffs, the only way to tell a sage from a mage was how badly everything was on fire.

And EVERYTHING was on fire right now. Your cloak, your staff, the mud around you. You  _were_ fire at this point.

The humans as a whole made one step back.

“S-s-sage!” One of the humans squeaked.

“No, I’m a magical popsicle!” You snapped, “Aren’t too bright, are you?”

Alarm flickered over the human's faces, only one managed to keep his calm... and his sword out.  “S-sorry sir… ma’am! Dame? The boys and I… just were searching for our missing scouts. Found these monsters instead.”

“You did. And I finished them off. Not very good at taking care of loose ends, are you.” You extinguished the stick, letting your flame cloak peel away. Your ash covered cloak could easily be mistaken for dust in this damp weather.

The commander stepped forward, bowing in apology. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We were not aware there were to be any sages in the area.”

Narrowing your eyes, you glared at him. This man would be harder to bluff.

“We go where needed, as needed… and sometimes because we feel like it.” You were positive your mage teachers never would have said that… but as they were all old, cranky mages they probably would have simply set someone on fire for doubting them. You would have been the youngest sage. All you had to do back then at the Academy was kill one person to prove your loyalty and you would have been a sage. He had just been a random stranger, some criminal due for execution. You didn’t know him -- you didn’t _need_ to know him. All you had to do was kill him.

And so you did.

...you have never regretted anything so hard as you regretted that. When you put your life over his, everything came apart. Your magic stopped working as it should have. Fire went beyond your control. Half terrified and half furious at yourself, you had tried to regain control, only to burn down a quarter of the Academy. You didn’t like the person you had become, someone who was so hungry for power you were willing to discard a life like that. So you had fled.

Funny how life has a way of catching up to you, no matter how fast you run or how far you go.

The commander finally sheathed his sword, his entire group taking that as a sign to disarm themselves too. “Well, thank you for the … uh… assist. You didn’t by chance run into any other Breakers on the mountain? Or any other monsters?”

Breakers must be the name of the monster hunting army. “Nothing that was alive afterwards.” You give a twisting grin, it was too wide and showed far too many teeth, warped by fear and a desire to taste _vengeance_. It caused nausea to run through your gut and the humans all flinched. Bluff succeeded… they would be having nightmares for weeks now. But you would be having nightmares for the rest of your life.

“Can we escort you back to the Academy? We were headed passed that way on the way to regroup.”

No. VERY VERY NO. Over yours (and literally everyone else’s too) dead body. The sages themselves would have to drag you back unconscious before you went willingly.

“No, I still have business here. You best be moving on… I don’t deal with ‘friendly fire’ well.” The wide and cold grin spread back over your face, the heavy stick of wood you were using as a staff gave a loud _crack_ as glowing embers burned from deep within.

The commander blanched, even in darkness you could see how waxen his skin looked. “Yes, ma’am!” He barked to his troops, and they turned and double-timed it back down the road.

You stood for a while in the middle of the road, letting water cascade off your cloak as you listened to their retreat. Your heart had evaporated, or forgotten how to beat. How the hell you did that without stuttering or murdering all of those awful men was beyond you. You still weren’t sure it was the better path. You had left seven monster killing humans alive and roaming the land, but you had hopefully deterred them all way from Ebott in the long run.

… unless they made it back to the Academy to report one of their ‘sages’ was on ‘patrol’ out there. There was no way it would end well if the sages came to Ebott.

There was a soft snuffling sound, almost lost under the heavy patter of rain. Tossing your hood back, you could hear better, and the sound came from the ditch before falling silent again. Using the stick to prod the road, you found a slightly less muddy way down into the ditch. A runoff of water a few inches deep splashed against your boots, soaking your skirt and cloak in muddy water. At the bottom of this stream, sitting in icy cold water, was a brown furry monster, paws clutching their head as they tried to hold in their crying. Even caked in mud, dust, and what might be human blood, you could see thick bands of colors on the shirt. A striped shirt.

It was a kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short! Sorry! But finally, the intro to a character I tried to fit in much earlier. And some backstory to the Disaster. 
> 
> Allergies have punched me right in the face. Tis allergy season, and the pollen fairy is a bitch. I'm allergic to everything, from grass to cats (and yeah, I have cats, but they are so cute, I don't care!), and this time of the year everything gangs up on me. Allergy meds completely destroy my ability to focus. Doing the best I can here, but we might drop to once a week updates next week. I'll see.... to be decided.


	26. Chapter 26

A muddy, soaked monster child was sitting in the ditch, sobbing into their paws. Each hiccup caused flappy ears to droop over their muzzle. Shivers ran through their form, each breath a shuddering sob and snotty snuffling. You couldn’t even tell if the kid was male or female. Just…a kid.

You hesitated on approaching. The monster refugees hadn’t trusted you until you checked them. This child was one startle away from scrambling into the dark woods and hiding where you couldn’t find them. As carefully as you could, you reached out and poked the kid with a check.

_Name: Toriel_  
_Lvl: 1_  
_HP: 2/5_  
_AT: 2_  
_DF:1  
_ _Status: … where is everyone? Mom? Dad?_

At the check, the little monster whimpered, looking up. Pale lavender eyes blinked at you, tears rolling down cheeks and the mud caking them was starting to wash clean, revealing the white fur underneath.

“You… are the same kind of monster as Asgore,” you were frozen to the spot. This kid, Toriel, looked only to be a few years old, little bigger than a toddler.

She looked up at you with wide, vacant eyes. After a few moments, the tears return and her lower lip quivers.

“Oh no, sweetie, come here. Let’s get you with the others.” Slowly, you hold out your arms. You don’t want to scoop the kid up and terrify her. You carefully approached, getting one arm under the little goat monster and lifting her to your shoulder. It was like cuddling a ball of wet ice, the muddy fur was starting to freeze in the mountain air. Dragging the cloak over her back, you felt an icy cold child curl against your neck and give a shiver and sob.

“OW!” You clamped down on your tongue as a sharp stab of pain knifed in at the junction of your neck and shoulder. It was like your cloak pin had come free and stabbed you… in approximately 28 places. Instead… Toriel had bitten you. The kid was clamped down on a mouth full of cloak and shirt, her teeth still managing to puncture your skin underneath. Still crying, the child was muffling her cries with the mouthful of fabric.

Toriel’s bite loosened slightly, releasing your stabbed skin, but keeping a loose grasp on the cloak.

“Are… you ok there, kiddo?” You winced, feeling the dampness of water and what might be rising blood from a shallow bite on your neck.

Toriel gave a slight, muffled “Nmmf,” her teeth clenching in the fabric and mercifully missing you. She seemed to grow calmer now, and stuck one muddy thumb in her mouth to suck on in a daze as her eyes lost their focus. She slid into a catatonic state, not really aware of anything.

You should look for survivors. If Toriel had survived, there could be others. Stumbling through the mud and fallen leaves, you made several wide circles of the area where the battle happened. You found dust. Lots of wet dust. No dead humans either. Your last pass through the area took you close to another steep cliff that dropped off into a river. Three monsters were cowering in the stream, looks of terror on their faces when they looked up at a ‘sage’.

“No no no! It’s ok, I’m not a sage! I’m a friend of Home!” You held your hand out in peace, taking a sharp breath as you bounced a check off two of the monsters -- your magic was dropping far too quickly to manage a third check. And shit, they were in bad shape. You weren’t sure they could survive the journey up the mountain.

Three checks hit you, and the sheer amount pushed you far beyond your comfort zone. You shuddered, and wheezed as your mind nearly blacked out. Your magic was not playing nicely. Still, whatever result the check showed them, one of the monsters gave you a weak smile, and the other two clutched at each other, relieved sobs finally breaking their silence.

“Can you get up here?” You asked, looking at the steep, muddy slide that had taken them down into the gully.

“I… don’t think so. Can you use blue magic and lift us out?”

“Heh, I wish. Fire only. … hold on, I’m coming down.” Pulling your cloak off, and lifting Toriel off your arm, you twisted the fabric around her. “Stay here, I’m going to carry them up the slope.” The kid didn’t even acknowledge you. But neither did she try and run away. She merely switched thumbs, pulling a clean white thumb out of her mouth and shoving a muddy paw to her face. Your cloak was warm at least, and the freezing child only shivered.

Three times you slid down the muddy embankment, tossed a monster over your shoulder in a modified lift, and then painstakingly found solid footing to carry them back up. None weighed much, all were smaller than human size. Your dress was in muddy tatters by the time you dragged yourself onto the road for a final time. Rain had soaked all of you, leaving you freezing and shivering.

You shivered, taking your cloak and Toriel off the ground. At least she didn’t bite you again, too cold and shocked to react. The ice-ball pressed her cold nose against your neck, and goosebumps broke out across your body. “Okay, so who’s up for a six hour hike through the dark?”

No one agreed.

“Yeah, me either. But let’s catch up to the group and then stop for the night.” You were tireless, and could march all night if needed. These guys wouldn’t make it more than 20 minutes before they were exhausted. At least you were able to shape a disc of hot magic to keep everyone warm, even through the cold rain. As a thin-skinned human, you would have frozen to death in this weather by now without it, the monsters would have been right behind you at death’s door.

Thanks, Grillby, you mentally praised him for being so stubborn and showing you how to get it right.

You were able to carry both Toriel and one of the injured refugees at the same time. You probably could have managed all four of them if the road’s hadn’t been slick. It took two breaks for them to catch their breath before you finally saw the tail end of your wagon. It had barely managed to move at all, the monsters trying in vain to coax the stubborn cows along.

“Probably not the most sheltered of places, but everyone who wants to stop for the night, get something to eat, and warm up, say aye.” It was a very human thing to say, from what you could tell monster’s didn’t ‘vote aye’.

Despite that, there was an overwhelming roar of ‘aye’ from the group.

So now there was a wagon pulled against a level spot field along the road and you were rooting through the supplies to find food while a few monsters built a bonfire. It took more of your magic to ignite it than you cared to admit, but soon a warm haze surrounded the struggling flames. Someone had made small lean-to huts out of sticks, enough that about half of the monsters could be sheltered and the most grievously injured were tucked inside. The rest were hiding under the wagon from the rain. Toriel was still catatonic with a thumb in her mouth, one of the monsters held her to try and coax the child to eat but she had no interest in anything. Every few minutes, someone surreptitiously checked you. At this point, you were checked enough for every monster to have done it twice. Your nerves were so shot that one more check would have you coming apart, but the last check never came and you were spared that at least. The monsters settled down in an exhausted sleep.

You stood guard, half of a burnt oaken staff in one hand, and the other holding a disc of magic to keep yourself warm as you stared out into the night. “If this is what Grillby went through to keep everyone safe on the way up Ebott…” you winced. Grillby was so much stronger than you realized, if he survived a week in the cold rain, and standing guard _and_ providing magic to his niece.

The night was long. But at least it was quiet. Nothing broke your guard, and the raider’s didn’t return. Rain let up a few hours before dawn, leaving everything soggy and wet as the sun crested the horizon.

Toriel watched you from under a lean-to. You couldn’t tell if she was actually looking _at_ you, or just staring into space and you happened to be in her vision. “Are you hungry, Toriel?”

The kid didn’t answer.

“You should eat something.” You prodded, reaching into one of the packed crates and pulling out an apple.

The kid didn’t take it.

“What if I eat half, and you eat half?” Pulling a small knife from the crate, you sectioned the apple, picking the most child friendly pieces to offer to the kid.

She didn’t eat them.

“Please. You need to eat something.”

A crawling memory pierced the fog of your brain, something Grillby had said about monster babies eating magic-infused foods. Perhaps Toriel was too shell-shocked to eat normal food, maybe some magic would get her appetite going. Now if only you knew _how_ to get magic into food.

The first apple slice blew up when you tried.

The second one melted.

The third one looked normal, but was hot, like a piece of caramelized apple.

You checked the apple slice…

_Name: Apple_  
_Lvl: …so this is what your life has come to..._  
_HP: ... what, you want stats?..._  
_AT: ...rich in vitamin C..._  
_DF: ...and… uh… flavor...  
_ _Status: … and there’s magic in here. Not much, but some._

Kneeling down, your cloak tangling around your legs, you held the apple slice under Toriel’s gaze. You expected the kid to maybe gingerly pick at the apple slice, or ignore it entirely.

You _didn’t_ expect the kid to lunge, biting down on the apple slice and your hand both. Tiny, dagger sharp children’s teeth stabbed into your hand. You sucked in air in a sharp hiss, and bit down on your lip to keep from crying out in pain. The monster child had deceptively _sharp_ teeth, though you probably should have expected that if she had managed to bite you through a cloak and shirt. You weren’t sure if you were bitten out of fear, or out of desperation to get at the magic. It didn’t matter actually why, all you knew was if you frightened this kid, she would go running.

“It’s… okay. I’ve been bitten before.” You said through grit teeth, struggling to keep your face calm. “I got bit by a moose once. …I was extremely un _amoosed_ when it happened. You probably don’t _caribou-_ t it. _Deer_ y me, it did hurt though.” Your first instinct when under stress or trying to hold in pain, was puns. The joke looked like it went over the kid’s head, there was no reaction. Or at least, not a positive one. Toriel released your hand, leaning away distrustfully.

But she took the apple piece with her. Baby steps. Nibbling at the apple her sharp teeth make quick work of it, thick skin and all.

You tried again, soaking another piece of apple with magic. The result is the same -- a warm, slightly gooey piece of apple that more resembles something that has been half cooked. This time you placed the piece of apple on a lid of a crate, and push it across the ground gingerly towards the kid. Toriel snatches this one off the plate with a clumsy frenzy. This piece she devours as if she hasn’t eaten in weeks.

… she hasn’t eaten properly in weeks… has she?

You check the kid. It took so much effort to do it that your vision started to go blurry at the edges and your head swam as if drunk.

_Status: It’s been three days since Toriel’s last meal. And you smell funny. Like cows. And ash._

You weren’t sure how long monster kids could go without food, but if they were anything like human kids then this was Toriel’s limit. No wonder the refugees had demolished one of the crates of supplies, if a child had gone without food for three days, it was almost a guarantee others had gone even longer with no meals.

Slicing the apple to thin wedges, you offered them to Toriel without magic this time. The kid’s appetite seemed to have returned, she grabbed the edge of the crate lid and began to drag it backwards until she was hidden in one of the lean-to huts so she could eat without anyone taking her food. Probably without _you_ taking her food, in her mind you were the scary monster here.

“I’m not going to take it from you.” You didn’t move any closer to the kid.

The kid didn’t say anything, only shoving each piece of apple into her mouth with a voracious hunger. Your palm stung. Looking down, you realized it had been bleeding almost the whole time, tiny droplets of blood now dripping from the tip of your pinky finger.

“You shouldn’t leave your hand like that, miss. Can you heal at all?” One of the refugees was watching you. His nose twitched as he sniffed the air. Ah, that’s right, the whole ‘magic is in the blood’ thing. “Ah. You really do only have fire magic.”

“Afraid so.” Looking at your palm, there was a tiny, perfect horseshoe of teeth marring the skin. It stung something awful, but you had been scratched by bricks worse than this before. You wouldn’t even need a bandage, it was almost clotted by now. “We’re going to have to head out soon. Can you help me wake the others?”

“You haven’t slept though.”

“I… don’t sleep well away from home.” It was the truth. Besides, someone had to guard the group. Might as well be a super durable human mage who could bluff as a sage. You still couldn’t believe you had pulled that off last night.

Maybe you were terrifying.

The group of monsters woke up fast enough, packed the few crates they had pulled out of the wagon back up, and set out on the road as the sky was brightening. It didn’t take long for the refugees to cross from the main road onto the narrow path that lead up the mountains. The pace was painfully slow, with frequent breaks needed just to keep everyone going. At least the oxen weren’t struggling with this slow pace. The two worst injured monster rode on the driver’s seat of the wagon. There wasn’t space for more than that with how packed the load was. Toriel was carried.

By you.

Because after biting the shit out of your hand, apparently the kid had decided she was a barnacle and latched onto your leg.

“Honey, can you let me carry you? Dragging you along like this is… kind of awkward.” You lifted the edge of your cloak, revealing the tiny goat monster latched to your leg still. She had one arm wrapped around your knee, and the other was jamming a thumb into her mouth.

The kid didn’t reply.

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m sure sitting on my shoulder is better than sitting on a muddy boot.”

“Nnnnnngg,” the whine seemed to want to disagree, but little Toriel was looking up at you with distrustful eyes. She pulls her thumb out of her mouth, revealing the white fur underneath all the mud.

“I promise I won’t drop you.” Halting, you hold out your unbitten hand to the child clutching at your leg.

So she bites it.

Credit to you, you didn’t jerk away or swear. You probably deserved the bite, for putting your grubby hand in a kid’s bite range. However a wild crackle of flame engulfs the staff and the beginnings of a flamecloak spell start wrapping around your collar. Hissing steam, you manage to extinguish the fire before it tries to ‘defend’ you from a child’s bite.

“Okay, no up. Got it. Message clear.” Teeth clenched, you slowly take your hand away, and Toriel releases her bite. Great. Now you have a matching set on each hand, and a bonus bite on your shoulder. You slowly start up the road, confused by this kid. She doesn’t want to let go, but she also wants to bite you. You would check her, but your magical control is starting to fray. You are half afraid if you try it, you’ll end up seeing what’s in her mind.

If Grillby is tormented by the death of his family… how bad would the nightmares be for a kid who watched it all too? All you want to do is hug the kid and tell her everything will be better on Ebott, but you are positive that would earn you another bite.

Every mile up the road is a struggle. You managed a lopsided gait, one leg dragging with Toriel’s weight as you slowly felt your strength ebb away. By early morning, your magic fizzled out entirely, and you couldn’t manage the shaped heat-disc anymore. At least the sun had pushed the rain away, leaving you soggy and slowly growing more and more chilled. By late morning, you were growing dizzy, and your breathing came in sharp puffs of steam again, now your stamina was draining and the edges of your vision were blurry. As midday brightens the sky and starts drying out the damp ground, you see the familiar bend in the road that leads to your house. You also see a whole pack of white hounds. The alarm goes up: a loud BOOF warning bark, and then a howl as they recognize you. In moments you are swarmed by a sea of white fur and frantically battering tails. Someone licks your cheek, and a cold nose is shoved against your neck. As well as a cold nose in some OTHER places.

“Eeek! Ok, Hi missed you too! Noses do not go there!” you yelp. This was not the greeting you expected. Toriel’s grasp tightened on your leg in alarm as the dogs swarmed around you.

The frantic flailing of tails stop as one, and all ears sudden prick. The hounds snuffle against you, sniffing with interest.

_Magic is in the blood._

And now all of Ebott will know.

There is a deep rumble, like thunder but the sky is clear. The hounds peel away from you, clearing a path. You managed to look up just in time to think ‘oh good, and now an explosion’ before said ‘explosion’ sweeps you off your feet and all you see is fire.

This is _also_ not the greeting you expected. That didn’t meant you hadn’t been looking forward to it though.

“H-hey, I missed you, you chunk of charcoal,” you smile softly, your face stuck against his chest as you are pulled into a hug. It was a good thing he had his arms around you, you had just lost the ability to stand on your own two feet. The ashen staff clattered to the ground as you clutched at him, trying to keep upright. He was warm, so warm and you were so far into frozen that you had gone numb to the cold.

Grillby has got you pulled against him tightly, his magic twisting around you in a flamecloak that cause all other monsters to back away. Toriel flinched at the fire, and burrowed further under your cloak and hidden from view. His magic _crawled_ down your spine, a check follows it. Two more checks in rapid succession follow. Unable to speak, he bows his head and buries his face in your hair. You can hear his breath, ragged and uneven, and his seems to be … smelling your hair?

“What’s wrong? Grill? Hey!” Your voice doesn’t reach him though. You need to check him back, but you don’t have the magic for that. Everything is wobbling, and nausea roils in your guts. Reaching up, you shove your hands out from under your cloak and loop them around his neck.

Grillby said your name, a quiet rasp that you almost missed. You feel a _pull_. Something that starts where your soul would be. You give a surprised huff of air.

“Why are you bleeding?” His voice sounds more ragged than you remember. The fire curling around your shoulders grows warm… almost hot. “Disaster… everyone is going to know you are a mage if you are bleeding.”

“Yeah… about that. They know anyway. I kinda had to… pretend to be a sage, to chase away the raiders.” That was a story a bit too long to explain while being manhandled by an elemental in the middle of the path. Besides, it firmly falls into a ‘your problem’ kind of issue, something you’ll deal with when you cross that bridge. The more pressing issue was why was Grillby so upset? “Grill, what’s your status? Are you okay?”

“He’s really not, bird.” Gerson’s gravelly growl came from the farmyard, the tortoise was leaning over the wall at your arrival. “But it’ll be better now that yer back. Com’mon, inside. We’re… having some crisis here.”

Whatever the crisis was only was made worse by your own alarm and stupid reaction.

You assumed the worst: that Grillby had been tormented by the memories of Riverside, or that his niece had…

The nightmare of Grillby’s death and the egg slowly starving to death crawled back into your mind.

You _checked_ him.

You didn’t have the magic for the check.

… everything went black as magic you didn’t have was pulled from you.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all your comments and support! I've finally reached the point in this story that I just wanted to fast forward to since the first chapter. In short, the state is set!
> 
> And that said, there may or may not be a Saturday update. Work is... filled with drama. Without getting into the screaming details of the awful office drama, there might be weekend overtime, which completely kills my muse's urge to write. No one knows what's happening, but I did overhear someone trying to ask another manager how to get paychecks for us issued... because if they don't pay us, there WILL be riots. If there is no weekend overtime, count on an update on Saturday!
> 
> PS. office drama sucks.


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